


Sin: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

by Ritzy_bird



Series: #Buy Jean An Actual Dildo 2k16 [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Coming Out, Fantasizing, Jean's going to fuck himself with a holy cross, M/M, New Years, Other, Winter Holiday Season, Yeah you read that right, romantic pining, sin - Freeform, thirst, using a non-dildo item as a dildo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 41,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter arrives, and Jean swears he'll tell Marco how he really feels about him. He has the perfect chance during the holidays, under the safety of a skype call which could easily be disconnected if things went wrong... But not before masturbating with one of the many holy crosses at his disposal, because Jean is very weak and thirsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollyboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyboy/gifts).



> Please, imagine Armin with any hair cut that is not a bowl cut. Just because he's a nerd doesn't mean he has to look like a travesty. Also, I'm a sucker for winter/holiday/Christmas fics. Split into two chapters so that if you don't have the time to read the whole thing at once, you can come back to it later and not have to sift through as much info like the last fic.

Winter, the season of cold weather and fireplaces to bundle up near while drinking hot cocoa and wearing fuzzy socks. Those weren't the reasons why Jean really loved the season, though. No, he was over joyed because of presents and the fact that his acne cleared up almost completely in the winter. Not enough to make his face look good, but enough to boost his self esteem enough to hope that maybe, just maybe, Marco would see how semi-attractive he was under all of the make up, oil, and acne scars.

For the past five years, Jean tried his hardest every winter to confess his feelings for Marco, and every time, it just didn't work out right. The first year, Jean was only twelve and he was too intimidated by Marco being 13, and therefore a teenager, who probably wouldn't want to kiss a gross little 12 year old. Every other year after that got even worse and more embarrassing, always ending in failure.

But Jean loved Marco so much, that by the time December came around the next year, he was just as excited and confident as the year before despite all of the flukes and screw ups that had happened. Jean always said to himself, that this year would be different. This year he'd tell Marco. This year he'd stop crying and kicking himself after fucking up something so simple.

It was just a matter of when, really. Jean wished he could pull off the sweet trashy romance cliche of sticking a mistletoe up somewhere so that he could somehow manipulate Marco with the stupid traditions of Christmas into finding Jean attractive. But both he and Marco visited other relatives around Christmas, never close to each other during almost the entirety of their winter break. Jean's mother wouldn't even put up a Christmas tree or many decorations, since they were never home during the heat of the holidays anyway.

Winter break was only a couple of weeks away, and yet everyone in town had the luxury of getting hit by a snow storm that had closed the schools at least for a day. Jean would have loved to play around in the snow, jumping into piles of it and making disgusting, lumpy mounds of ice that could be considered snow men.

However, Jean had gotten a phone call and a proposition; Walk all the way to Armin's house and help shovel snow for 30 bucks. Jean had a hard time saying no to money, so he told his mother where he was going, packing on layers of thick clothing before grabbing a shovel and leaving the house. Armin's house was closer to Jean's than anyone else's, especially so in the winter. There were so many hills around town that you could barely drive, let alone walk, anywhere until the plows and salt trucks came through.

That didn't mean it wasn't a pain in the ass to get there in the winter, though. Jean had to wear Yaktrax just so that he wouldn't slip on the ice, fall, split his head open and the sidewalk and bleed out there. And as much as Jean could create the worst case scenarios no matter the situation, he wasn't actually all that worried. He was too distracted.

Artist, hopeless romantic, overly sensitive cry baby at the core-- That's what Jean was. He'd never tell anyone how beautiful he thought winter was. He liked the quiet mornings after a snow storm, nothing but the occasional plow and the drag of his shovel behind him to disturb the silence. Everything was either dead or sleeping, and to Jean, that was perfect. Sure, flowers are pretty, birds were pretty, butterflies are pretty, but sparkly snow and ice covering almost everything? Jean would take that over summer scenery any day.

It was definitely a nice alternative to school, that was for sure. Jean was positive that they were supposed to turn in some kind of, semi important homework project thing today, and he was too lazy to finish it the night before. He'd planned to just half-ass it during homeroom, but now he had more time to stall! Then as he drew closer to Armin's little house, he could imagine Armin nagging him for being so careless.

The tedious speeches Armin made about doing well in school to better yourself in life and blah blah who the fuck cares, always annoyed Jean to no end. He could respect Armin's brain, but not his mouth. Not even Marco cared as much about grades as Armin did, and maybe that was another reason Jean spent more time with Marco than his other friends. Less pressure to think about important things.

When Jean reached the house, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and took one of his gloves off, shivering at the cold immediately. He really needed to invest in one of those pairs of touch screen sensitive gloves, but why spend the money on something you'd only need for a few months out of the year? Jean decided he could suffer for one more year, his dry hands could just bathe in some lotion from Bath&Body Works later and deal with it.

He texted Armin that he'd arrived, and shoved his glove back on as quickly as possible. Although now, there was a little sliver of his wrist exposed to the cold compared to before, and it bothered him. Maybe he _should_ get new gloves? Slightly longer ones, at least. Jean pulled his sleeve a little to try and compensate, before getting to work on the snow that was covering the stairs leading up to the front door.

They hadn't gotten more than a couple of feet in snow, but there'd been a period of time where the snow was only falling lightly the day before, which melted and froze over, leaving a dangerous layer of ice underneath the soft and fluffy layers of snow. It was dangerous for driving and for walking on, especially on stairs.

"Good morning." Jean looked up at the greeting, and saw Armin at the door holding a huge bag of salt in his arms, looking uncomfortable having to carry the weight. Jean set his shovel to the side, reaching out to grab the bag before tossing it to the base of the stairs. "You don't look like you're having a 'good' morning at all." Jean noted before getting back to shoveling.

Armin gripped the railings and slowly made his way down the stairs, "It's been one day and I'm already sick of all this snow. I wish the sun would come out already and melt it." Armin answered begrudgingly, slowly opening the salt bag and beginning to sprinkle it around the areas Jean had already shoveled. Jean knew full and well how much Armin hated the snow. The cold, the ice, the way the sun would reflect off of it and "blind" him.

Jean thought it was a bit of an exaggeration, but he was biased. "'Kay, you got the money you promised me then?" Jean asked, tossing more shoveled snow to the side. He didn't think Armin would be up for much conversation this early in the morning on a snow day.

He felt something get shoved into his pocket and turned around, taking a peek in excitement only to frown, glaring up at Armin, "This is like, half!" Fifteen dollars was still more than Jean made with his allowance in two weeks, but half is also _only_ half. Armin scoffed, turning back to his salt bag. "Eren would have done this for 10."

Jean turned around, leaning on his shovel, "Do I look like Eren to you? Speaking of which, where is that asshole? I figured he'd be racing over here to shovel for you." Jean didn't have anything against Eren, he was just incredibly envious that Eren had less acne, muscles, and had been on his fair share of dates before. That and, he heard that at some point in 8th grade Eren had asked Marco out, and even though Marco laughed it off and said no, it still made Jean bristle.

Armin pulled some more money out of his pocket, "He's busy shoveling himself out today. You can get the other half when you're done shoveling. That or, if Eren gets here before you're done. I don't need you running off with the money while I'm on a snack break." He then proceeded to stuff the money back into his pocket, returning to salting the stairs.

Offended, Jean started to shovel again with more zeal, "I'm no thief!" He wasn't, that and, even if he did steal the money, it wasn't like Armin wouldn't see him again. Also, Armin had Mikasa and Eren as backup. He couldn't say no to a pretty face or the threat of violence, two things that both Miaksa and Eren had.

Jean might've been envious of him, but even he couldn't deny that Eren was at least conventionally attractive. And Eren even had that heterochromia thing that lots of people thought was cool. What was there to say about Mikasa? Smooth face. Pretty black hair. Could carry Eren over her back like he was a sack of potatoes. Boobs? It wasn't rocket science.

Armin was... eh, okay. Not nearly as hot and intimidating as his friends were. Except during Jeopardy games in school. That could make Armin one scary baby sized predator. But, Armin was only kinda cute, at best. He had too much of a baby face for Jean's liking. What was Jean thinking about again?

"Hey, you're shoveling the snow right back onto the stairs, cut it out!" Armin exclaimed, pulling Jean away from his thoughts. "What? Shit, my bad. 'Got carried away." He apologized, hurrying to scrape the snow off the stairs. "I just salted there, too.... I knew I should have just waited for Eren to get here." Armin sighed.

Jean snorted, his face scrunching up before furiously shoveling again, this time minding where he tossed the snow. He muttered about how he'd show Armin that he was better, and that he could shovel all of the stupid damned snow before anyone else came to help. The dead silence of winter morning, however, made his quiet cursing very easy to hear. Jean heard Armin laugh, and he turned around to see Armin giving him a smirk.

"What's so funny?" Jean huffed, stabbing the shovel into a mound of snow. Armin leaned against the metal railing, "You get frustrated so _easily_ , how do you even manage to get through school? Eren knits to calm down," Armin lifted his hands to show emphasis, showing some unevenly knitted mittens on his hands. "But I don't think art relaxes you very much, does it?"

Jean pursed his lips, then shrugged and got back to work. "Art happens to be _very_ relaxing, thank you very much." He said it as if he hadn't broken multiple pencils, crayons, and oil pastels during art class growing up. And Armin had seen his fair share of Jean's artistic stress tantrums. But that was in the past, Jean's different now. He's matured, he only cries when drawing people now. Dogs? Trees? Fruit bowls? Jean could draw all of that without a sweat, and sometimes make it look good too. "And don't talk to me about school, ugh. It's a snow day."

He heard the front door of the house open, "I'll get some hot chocolate. With, or without cinnamon?" Jean looked up excitedly, "Oh--" He stopped, thinking about cinnamon. He turned to hide his blush, thinking back on the anonymous love letter he'd written to Marco what seemed like ages ago. "W-without cinnamon. But, put marshmallows in it!"

"Why? You won't be able to see them and they're just gonna melt anyway." Armin asked, not seeming to catch on to Jean's fumble. Oh, but Jean was no idiot. He knew that Armin noticed. All he could do was avoid confrontation for as long as possible and hope that Armin wouldn't have the energy to ask him about it later. He was lucky that he wasn't crushing on Armin, otherwise he was sure that Armin probably would have found out and confronted him about it before Jean even realized he was actually crushing on him.

After a few moments, Armin came back out of the house with two thermoses, "C'mon, sit down. You can stop being all flustered and grumpy now." He sat down on the top step, setting one of the thermoses down next to him. Jean didn't want to stop only for Eren to come running up the driveway, shovel in hand, ready to make Jean feel like a slacker.

But he took a glance at Armin's face, and cursed himself. Armin was giving him the "let's talk" stare, and Jean knew that if he didn't take the bait, then Armin would just find another way, another time and a worse place, to get his answers. He also didn't want Armin asking Marco if something was up, risking all of the work Jean had put into keeping his cool and acting normal around Marco.

Sighing in defeat and exasperation, Jean let the shovel tilt and drop into a pile of snow. He sat on one of the lower steps, not wanting to be in a position where looking Armin in the eyes while talking would be expected. He knew that Armin wasn't a mind reader, and he was sure that Armin was just going to fish for a topic and that he didn't really know what was going on with Jean. And why would he? Jean hadn't told a single human being that he'd had feelings for Marco.

"Did you finish your science project?" Jean asked first, hoping to dodge any more personal questions Armin might have had planned. "Hm? Oh, right, that. Of course I finished it, it's due on Friday. There's too much homework in the middle of the week, so I finished it on Saturday just to be safe. I hate that they're making us do presentations, it's not like it shows how much we understand the class."

Jean nodded, stretching his arm back to grab the other thermos, avoiding Armin's gaze as he did so. He knew Armin cared, that he generally wouldn't pry if he knew the topic was too sensitive. And Jean figured Armin could keep a secret, but this just wasn't one he could give up. No, he had to tell Marco first, and then he could tell other people. "I didn't finish it." It was all Jean said before popping open the thermos and taking a sip. He really would have liked some cinnamon, but marshmallows would have to do.

Armin hummed, and Jean tried to pretend he didn't hear anything. "Do you need help with it? I know you've hated biology for as long as I can remember so it makes sense if you're hitting dead ends. Or, are you just being lazy again? Plan on doing it the night before?" Jean closed his eyes, nodding again. "Yep." Jean did almost everything the night before, the more important the work, the closer he cut it. It wasn't intentional, Jean just worked better under pressure, sobbing gently into text books at 3 a.m. and downing multiple cans of soda.

"You're lucky that you test so well, otherwise you'd still be in sixth grade right now picking at your zits and getting into fights for stupid reasons." Armin joked, lightly tapping Jean's back with his foot. He wanted to grab Armin's foot and pull the boot off, stuff snow into it, and shove it right back onto Armin's tiny leg. How dare he bring up Jean's early acne days, when Jean was young and innocent, and foolish enough to think that he could just rip and tear at his skin and not face consequences? Unbelievable.

Jean turned to say something, but instead of the smirk he'd expected to see on Armin's face, Armin was simply drinking out of his thermos, eyes closed in thought, head up straight. What a dick. Jean had a hard time being aggressive with small, gentle faced people like Armin, so when Armin could hide his sly smiles and snickers when Jean was ready to give a push, it only bothered him. Why poke the sad, annoyed, gay bear if you're just going to hide afterwards?

But now Jean had been trapped. Armin looked back down at him, "You know, Jean, I know I don't know you as well as Marco does, but I still think something seems a bit off about you lately. And then you and him had to go and get grounded last month, what's up with that?" Jean couldn't hold the eye contact for more than a moment before giving a fake laugh and turning away. "Can't handle the fact that I've become a raging party animal now? I'm sure if you ask Marco's sister, she'll send you off to get fucking ruined at a party if that's what you want."

He knew that it wasn't convincing, and that it wouldn't make Armin stop, but it was self defense. He came out here to help Armin, and instead he was getting pestered and harassed as if he'd gone to see the school counselor. "Is it that," Armin paused, probably to get under Jean's skin or something like that. It seemed like something he would do. "You've got, _feelings_ for someone?" Jean tensed, but he knew that Armin was only fishing.

Asking about romance was the next thing to ask about after school. If Jean dodged it, Armin would just bring up Jean's family. If he dodged that, then it'd probably be onto future plans and then maybe existential dread. Jean thought about it for a moment. Existential dread, or talking about his crush on Marco? "Whaaat? Nah." Existential dread sounds nice.

"You hesitated." Armin said with a teasing voice, making Jean shudder involuntarily. He took it back, Armin could definitely be intimidating outside of Jeopardy games. Despite how much guiltier it made him look, Jean set his thermos down and stood up, picking up his shovel. "You're just makin' shit up to analyze me, stop doing that!" He could feel himself blushing, embarrassed as his mind drifted to thoughts of Marco's sweet voice, and caring eyes. Ugh. Affection.

Armin got up and made his way down the stairs, picking up Jean's thermos as he did so. "Is it maybe, me?" Jean turned around quickly, an eyebrow raised in confusion. "Uh, no. You're not my type." Jean snorted and looked at the ground again, whispering curses under his breath. He hadn't meant to say that. He meant to say he wasn't interested in men, and then he was going to make some stupid joke about how Armin was full of himself.

"Wh-why would I even like you anyway?" He was only digging himself a bigger hole. "Jean," Armin looked serious, "I know." Jean's face dropped, and he nervously met Armin's gaze. _What_ did Armin know? There were tons of things that Jean did that he didn't want anyone else to know about. His love for Marco. The password to his e-mail. The fact that he'd masturbated with a banana. So, _what the hell_ was Armin referring too?

"I... don't know what you're talking about?" Jean sounded unsure, and he was. For a few moments, there was silence. The complete quiet of the winter air showing their breaths, filled with tension.

It was agonizing for Jean, master of coming up with horrible scenarios. He even thought for a moment that Armin somehow knew that he murdered someone, despite the fact that Jean definitely never killed anyone before in his life or even tried to. But eventually, Armin was kind enough to break the silence, "You.... You're interested in men, right?" Now Armin was the one who sounded unsure, and if Jean had been a bit quicker to think he might have been able to assuage Armin's concerns.

But Jean wasn't quick enough, and he was a stammering mess, blinking wildly and yet unable to look away from Armin. "How, uh, uh uh ah, I? Wh-what...?" Jean managed to close his mouth and keep it shut before he said anything else more implicating, but he should have known by now, that his secret was as good as dead. Laid out in front of Armin like an open book, ready to be torn into and shoved straight back in Jean's face.

Armin blushed and looked away briefly, "I had my.... Well I just guessed?" Armin was blushing full on at this point, completely unable to look at Jean. "The last time you and Eren got into a little s-scuffle you, _Jesus Christ_ , you had a boner and _everything_ when he pushed you up against the wall."

Jean had to think back to what Armin was talking about, and he felt shame. He remembered how it felt to have a guy as strong as Eren shove him onto a wall and wrap his arms around his neck and, well, yeah. That happened. He was just lucky that Eren was too angry to notice. Jean thought that _nobody_ had noticed.... But Jean had to deny this. He had to deny this to his grave, right? He had to.

"So," Jean began, squeezing his eyes shut and squeezing the handle of the shovel. "What you're saying is that, you're k-kink shaming me? So what if I like having someone's hands a-around my neck, huh? It's not your business. Okay, okay, I admit, I was turned on, okay? But, but it wasn't because of Eren, I just like getting roughed up in general, alright? Who are you to... to say that? Huh?"

The cold air couldn't keep Jean from sweating as profusely as he was then. Armin had a look of shock and embarrassment on his face, "What.... What in the world are you _talking_ about? _Kink shaming_ you? I'm not an idiot, Jean, and I don't care if you get off on being strangled, just, stop. I'm not going to out you, alright, please stop embarrassing the both of us!"

No, Jean refused. He wouldn't. He wasn't going to admit it. Armin could suffer without an answer, just like Jean had been suffering for over five years without an answer. Jean couldn't let anyone else know about how he felt, not unless he knew for sure how Marco felt about him in return. So Jean turned around again, shoveling as quickly as he could, his arms flimsy from embarrassment and his legs shakey with apprehension.

Armin was smart, one of the smartest people Jean had ever met. Why couldn't he see that this wasn't helping? His prying wasn't wanted, it was unnecessary, Armin had nothing to gain from picking Jean's brain like this.

Jean was relieved when he heard the sprinkling of salt again, but he wasn't sure if Armin had given up or if he was just reassessing his method of torture. He was sure that one day Armin would either become an amazing psychologist, or the perfect interrogator. Either way, Armin would make a living off of the squirming and mental workings of some poor souls, and Jean was sure he'd be good at it.

Unfortunately, Armin could sprinkle salt faster than Jean could shovel, and with nothing to hear between them besides their breathing, shoveling, and salting, he could tell when Armin was getting closer. Like some wild animal waiting for its move. Waiting to catch Jean off guard, or waiting to suggest they take another break, perhaps with some snacks. Jean would simply have to wait and find out.

And boy, did Armin keep Jean waiting. Instead of striking up another conversation as soon as he'd run out of ground to salt, Armin simply paused and waited for Jean to make more room before continuing. Half way down the drive way, Jean couldn't take the suspense anymore and spun around, "What!? Okay, _what_ do you want to ask me!? Just say it! Just get it out of your system before I fucking lose it, okay? Just say something!"

Another trap he'd slipped into, or just his own anxious mistake? Armin was wide eyed, taken aback, salt still in his hands. Perhaps Jean was just a bit too aggressive when he'd yelled at him? Oh. That's right, he yelled at him. That was a little much. Now Jean felt like an asshole, seeing Armin like that.

"Uh, okay... I know you said your mom was raised Catholic, and a lot of your family is Catholic-- You visit them every Christmas. So, is it that, your family, are they...?" Armin looked into his handful of salt at that, and as insensitive as it might've been, Jean wanted to laugh. Instead he breathed out a sigh of relief, turning around to continue shoveling. "No, Armin, my family's not homophobic. They don't even know-- They don't even know that Marco's sister is a lesbian! Or, or that Eren's... whatever he is."

It was a nice attempt at a save, at least. He'd have to really work on the delicacy his wording, if he was ever going to actually tell Marco how he felt. Armin continued salting the ground, and Jean had been confident that Armin would have no choice but to back off. Jean was ready for the existential dread, or whatever other topic Armin had up his sleeve. At least, he'd get some more time before Armin would even think about harassing Jean again.

"So it's Marco, then." As Jean had heard Armin say that, he was about to shovel up some snow. But the shock and fear that had shot through his body made him slip backwards, crashing into the salty, iced driveway with a thud. Despite the wind being knocked out of him, Jean opened his eyes and stared at Armin, "No." It was so delicate, barely above a whisper really, and Jean felt like he needed to scream it at Armin just to get him to stop.

Armin threw the salt to the side somewhere, moving around Jean's body and bending down, "I can't believe you're still trying to deny it!" He huffed, offering his hands. Jean was glad that he'd worn a hat, otherwise he was sure the pain to his skull would have been a bit more extreme. No thanks to his damn Yaktrax.

Jean slowly sat up, but refused to accept Armin's help. "No, no.... Don't tell him. Don't tell _anyone_." Armin tilted his head to the side a little bit, clearly confused, before readjusting himself and emphasizing that his hands were outstretched. "You clearly have it _bad_ , okay, but calm down-- I hate gossip." Bullshit. Maybe Armin would never admit it, but it was at least obvious to Jean, that Armin loved to know things. Okay, maybe Armin didn't like to talk about people behind their back, but he must have enjoyed listening to gossip, and butting into people's very private lives apparently.

He grabbed Armin's hands, using them to help him stand without falling back again. But too many thoughts were going through Jean's head. If Armin could guess, who else could? What if Armin accidentally told someone?

"Is it that bad?" Jean whispered, looking down at the shovel he'd dropped. What a fucking dumbass he'd been! He might as well have just spelled it for Armin in the beginning, saved himself the humiliation and headache.

Armin gave Jean a sympathetic smile, "No, but for the future, don't act like that when someone thinks you like Marco. You should, I don't know, laugh it off next time? Lie about who you really have a crush on? Anything but losing your balance, falling to the ground, and whimpering 'no' with stars in your eyes like a little kicked puppy."

If Jean hadn't been wrapped up in feelings of failure, he would've said something. But, years and years of silence, of no one knowing except him, trying to keep other people from interfering; Down the drain. Now, if he told Marco how he felt, and it went terribly wrong, he'd have to face the fact that now Armin would be able to see Jean's shameful failure.

Coming back to his senses, Jean quickly snapped up the shovel, trying to put all of his energy into the clearing the snow. Getting angry or sad about this in front of Armin would have just made things worse. Knowing Armin, he'd probably tell Marco in some subtle way, just because he thought Jean needed the help. This could be his worst nightmare.

"Jean, you shouldn't get straight back to shoveling after that. I didn't mean to hit a nerve, we don't _have_ to talk about it, but you should at least take a break. The hot chocolate's definitely still hot." Armin suggested, moving to grab the shovel out of Jean's hands.

But Jean just threw the shovel down instead, "Oh so _now_ we don't have to talk about it, but before, even when, hello! I clearly didn't want you butting into my business...." Jean stopped, unable to take his anger out on Armin over something that was just as much his fault as it was Armin's. "I'm thirsty." He muttered instead, stomping away towards the stairs again.

He sat down on one of the bottom steps, leaning his head against the railing and looking at the salt and ice on the ground. Jean didn't even look up when Armin walked over and handed him his thermos, he simply took it while giving a small thank you and flicked it open. Steam flowed out of it, to Jean's surprise. He didn't think it'd stay piping hot for this long. He'd have to remember to invest in a thermos of his own one day. When he had more money....

Jean didn't care when Armin sat on the same step, though on the other side. But he couldn't handle more of the tense silence only to be broken and rebuilt with even more tension, so he took a deep breath and a gulp of hot chocolate before formulating his thoughts. "I just don't want anyone to know, until Marco knows." It was sort of a way to apologize, despite it sounding a lot more like Jean defending himself.

"How long exactly have you been waiting to tell Marco? I know I said that it wasn't obvious you liked him until you freaked out, but, there are still kids at school who think you're together, or that at least one of you has feelings for the other." Luckily Armin wasn't eager for a proper apology, to Jean's relief. But he was intrigued, and looked to the side at Armin. "Why?"

Armin laughed, "You say that like people don't _always_ assume that two close friends are secretly in love. You remember middle school, you used to tease me for having a crush on Eren, no matter how many times I told you I didn't." Jean gritted his teeth as he remembered how much more of an asshole he was when he was younger. Thinking about it now, Jean wasn't sure why Marco was even friends with him then.

"Well since you brought it up, you conniving smart ass, if it's not Eren who you're in love with, who _does_ get the 'honor' of being your little crush?" Jean didn't really care, but he deserved to know after Armin had mentally beaten the same thing out of him. Armin blew air out of his nose, closing his eyes before opening them again, only to give Jean an annoyed stare. "I know it's not what you wanna hear but, you just wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Jean sat up straight, giving Armin the evil eye, "Oh, no no, uh-uh, you're not pulling that crap with--" Armin cut him off, "I'm serious! You wouldn't believe me, no one ever does. Are you trying to make this about me just so we don't have to talk about Marco? Because if that's the case I'll shut up, we can both just not talk for a while."

It was such a cop out of an answer, Jean couldn't believe Armin was actually using it. He would think that, after all the prying and prodding Armin had done to Jean, he would have the common decency to spill his own beans.

Armin set his thermos down, "Okay how about, you talk to me about Marco, I tell you about my... 'situation'?" He asked, leaning back on the stair behind him. "I'm not a fucking dumbass, Armin. Okay, I am, but not enough of one to agree to those fucking terms, alright? Just forget it. You don't wanna talk about your relationship issues, sort of like how I didn't want to either. Weird how that works, isn't it?" Jean retorted, staring back at his thermos.

"I don't care, okay?" Armin sighed, giving a small shrug as he sat back up again. Well, Jean didn't care either. This was good. Why the hell should Jean care, anyway? "As in, I don't care about romance. Or sex. Or relationships of any kind that aren't just, friendship or family. I've _never_ really felt any interest towards it, either. I don't find anyone... sexy. I don't want to kiss or cuddle up with anyone, I don't... I just don't want it, I don't care." Armin continued, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

Not interested? In sex? In romance? In... _cuddles_!? Yeah, now Jean knew that Armin was spewing bullshit. Not wanting sex? Yeah, he could believe that. Not wanting romance? Slightly harder to believe but, okay, maybe. Not wanting... either? No, not possible. Uh-uh, not in Jean's book. "You don't have to make shit up to satisfy me."

Armin crossed his arms, "I told you. I told you, no one ever believes me. You know what I think?" Armin slapped his right arm down in between himself and Jean, leaning in closer, "I think, the things you're doing, the things everyone else does because of their 'crushes', is dumb. I understand _why_ everyone does it, I guess, but I think it's stupid anyway."

Jean blinked, leaning away from Armin. Stupid? What was stupid? Armin pulled his hand away and breathed before continuing, "I've seen you and too many other people basically torture themselves, because of romance. And let's not get started on what people do because of sex. Tell me, how long have you had feelings for Marco? How much has it driven you crazy, him not knowing, and you not knowing how to make things work?"

Not getting an immediate answer, Armin kept going. "I don't know why you haven't told him yet, and I'm not clearly an expert on romance, but you should just tell him. Whatever bad thing you think is going to happen by telling him, it's not going to happen. It just isn't! At worst, what, he turns you down? Then you, what, mourn over it for a bit? Then you can get over it, you can move on, you can go back to being friends again without things being weird and painful."

Jean only rolled his eyes, "Yeah, okay, I take it back. You really must not want sex or love. If you did.... If you did, you wouldn't be so insensitive right now! That's not even the worst thing that could happen. What if it ruins our friendship, because he's too weirded out by my feelings for him? Huh? Did you ever think about that?"

Armin inhaled and squeezed his knees, staring straight in front of him. "I can't believe you'd think something like that about Marco. I'm not his best friend, but I know he's not that kind of person." He looked at Jean then, sincerity in his eyes, "I don't understand romance, I know, but I have friends. Marco's been your best friend for, huh, forever maybe? He wouldn't let something like that destroy your friendship."

As much as he appreciated Armin's words, Jean didn't believe them. It was a nice idea, an innocent one really, to think that just because you're someone's best friend, you can accept anything they throw at you. "Marco isn't _perfect_ , just because he's a really nice person who's forgiving and doesn't let people know how he's feeling if he thinks it'll bother them, _doesn't mean_ that he can just shut off any weird feelings he has if I tell him I'm in love him!" Jean was so upset, he was squeezing his thermos until his hand shook a little.

Maybe Armin hadn't been expecting that, because he looked a little surprised. The silence was brief, but the tension was still alive and kicking. "You're... _in love_ with him? Are you sure about that? That sounds... a little excessive." Armin had said it slowly, as if he were pronouncing a new word, or hearing the phrase for the first time. Jean wanted to reach over and slap him, strangle him, shake him and scream about how much he loved Marco, as if it weren't completely obvious.

" _Excessive?_ " Jean practically whispered, his eyes narrowing with frustration. "Maybe, if you'd said that when I was 12, or 13, or for fuck's sake, even this time _last year_ I might have accepted that, okay? But I do, _love him_ , a-and I, I don't think he'll just be 'okay' with me telling him that, when I don't even know if he likes guys or not!"

He had stood up at this point, and he felt the beginning of tears well up in his eyes. As soon as he'd felt them, he squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could to get them to stop. "I wrote him, a fucking, stupid damned cheesy piece of trash love letter, telling him how I thought he was gorgeous, and how much I loved him, but you know what? Huh? You wanna know what's so _excessive_ about it?"

Armin just sat there, looking up at Jean with an unreadable expression. Jean wiped away a tear that had rolled down his cheek. "I didn't write my name on it, so that I could hear from Marco how he felt about some straaange, mysterious little love confession he'd found! But, he never said anything to me about it! So okay, okay yes, Armin, you're right maybe I'm a little excessive in what I do, but how I feel about him? That's not excessive. Fine, I'm _stupid_ , but don't tell me my f-feelings are _excessive_."

"Oh." Armin said quietly, slowly shifting his gaze away from Jean. It felt like an apology, or at least in Jean's mind it felt like one. He didn't know what to say, so he put down his thermos, again, and went to shovel. Again. What else was he supposed to do, really? Sit down until either he or Armin could spit up an apology with the word 'sorry' in there somewhere? They'd be waiting an eternity for that. Jean was stubborn and Armin had a stupid sense of pride.

"So, you wrote a love letter for him, huh? That's... sweet. What did you say in it?" Armin asked. Jean, no longer riled up with frustration and self-pity, blushed at the question. Jean didn't remember exactly what he'd written, but he remembered most of it, and how disgustingly cliche and cheesy it was. "D-doesn't matter, it was nonsense. And Marco must not've liked it. Or me... since he didn't say or do anything about it." Jean grumbled, pushing the memories about the letter as far out of his mind as he could.

Although as much as Jean tried to forget, he did wonder again, why Marco had kept the letter a secret from what appeared to be everyone. Jean knew that if he ever got some anonymous love letter, even if he thought it was stupid and threw it away, he'd tell someone.

"Everyone has their secrets, right? An anonymous love letter, that's not something you get every day. Maybe he's waiting to tell someone about it? I guess you could try writing him another one if it's bothering you so much." As Armin talked more, he seemed to be getting less uncomfortable. It made Jean feel slightly more at ease, despite the fact he couldn't understand Armin's lack of desire for sex and romance.

But, another love letter? That was a terrible idea, like putting the milk in your bowl before the cereal. Or eating cereal at all. "No way, I could never write another one of those. I was... confused, when I wrote the letter. Honestly, I was being a needy attention whore."

Armin sighed, "Alright. But, Jean, I'm serious. You should tell Marco how you feel. You deserve to get it off your chest after so long, right? And doesn't Marco deserve to know who wrote him that letter? How long do you plan on waiting...? Earlier, you made it sound like you've... loved him, for a long time."

Jean laughed for a while, genuinely finding Armin to be funny. He was being nice, polite even, but he still couldn't get it. Maybe he really didn't understand romance at all. "I'm gonna tell him this year, Armin. Don't fucking say anything about it or, I dunno, I'll come back here with this shovel. And yeah it's been, way too long."

Maybe Armin didn't hear him though. "Are you sure? I could talk to Marco for you, I could ask about the letter-- ...Never mind." Armin had shut up when he saw how absolutely stressed Jean's face was.

"I'm not sure what Marco's sexuality is, I don't spend enough time around him to get an idea. If he's interested in women-- Which I don't know if he is or not! Well you're not going to know if you don't say anything to him." Armin explained, though he sounded a bit confused himself. Romance really must not have been his thing.

At least Jean could appreciate Armin's attempts, even if it _was_ horrible advice. "Do you think he's, uh, like you at all?" Jean asked hesitantly, looking up from his shoveling. Armin smiled a little, but shook his head, "No way. You don't play Harvest Moon as much as he does so passionately, and not find any interest in romance. He tortures himself with those games just like everyone else I've seen torture themselves over real people they like. But, what do I know?"

Jean understood some of that, at the very least. He didn't think being interested in fake relationships, even by the several dozen, meant someone was interested in real ones. In fact, Jean thought it meant the opposite. To echo Armin's words; What does Jean know? "Yeah," Jean agreed, "You don't know shit about romance, and the only thing I know about romance is how much I want Marco. That's it."

But that's all Jean needed to know. That's all he wanted. "Just, don't wait forever to do it. I've turned people down before, and nobody died." Armin commented, scooping some salt into his hands and getting up to join Jean. "Wait, people have asked you out?" Jean could barely believe it. How could BabyFace McGee get asked out, while Jean could barely get cute people outside his friend circle to talk to him.

"Yeah, a few." Armin said with a gentle shrug, starting to salt the neglected pavement that Jean had been uncovering. Jean huffed as he went back to shoveling, "Uh huh, and who would those 'few' people be?" Armin took a quick glance at Jean, a knowing smile hidden in his own eyes, "No one important. They're 'not your type'."

Jean wanted to know, but he knew Armin would never tell. "You're lying." Jean said, though it was only to ease his own envy. "Does it matter?" Armin asked as he ran out of salt, before going to collect some more. No, it didn't really matter, at least, it shouldn't have. Jean knew Marco wasn't part of those few, so it was fine. He reminded himself that he'd already promised that he'd tell Marco how he felt. He would. Before the year ended, he'd tell him how much he loved him.

* * *

The plan was the same every year; Tell Marco before January. It was simple enough. Jean wanted to stall for time, to wait until the last minute, and his excuse was that he just couldn't imagine what it would be like if things went wrong right before they both went to visit family for the holidays. It could ruin Marco's entire vacation if all he could think about the whole time was how gross Jean was for having feelings for him.

So he went against his own word, and decided not to say anything to Marco in person before he left. Jean would get around to it, on skype, near the end of the month. After Christmas, yeah, that was a good time frame to do it. Then if things went terribly wrong, at least it would be a few days before Jean would have to suffer through seeing Marco in person again. By that time, he'd be able to stop crying for sure!

Being apart from Marco for so long used to seem like too much for Jean to handle, because he was a needy asshole that wanted Marco's undivided attention. Jean liked to think that he was getting more mature, but deep down he was pretty sure he'd just gotten used to masturbating and fantasizing about Marco while he was gone. But that was a shameful, filthy thing to admit to.

Jean was currently packing his things for the trip to his Nana's house, and he wondered if it was a stupid idea to bring his Vaseline. He bit his lip, thinking back on his steamy affair with his old vibrating toothbrush, and decided to leave it. He wasn't going to masturbate while visiting his _very religious_ family members. No, nothing would go up his ass again until January, not even his fingers.

There would be a lot of silent praying Jean would have to do at church, that was for sure. He hated church, and it made him uncomfortable now more than ever when he had to go. He'd sinned so much-- Probably more than he realizes, because he doesn't read the bible. So who knows what else he's done that's considered sinful?

Getting drunk at a party last month had been pretty intense, and even though Jean had already been dragged up to his Nana's house to go to church, he knew that wouldn't be the end of it. His Nana lived in a more secluded, small town up north, where lots of people knew each other. It made Jean's stomach flip to know he'd have to be bombarded with nosy questions from even more people during his supposed "vacation".

It was times like these that Jean wished he had a sibling like Marco did, so that he could hide behind them and let his family tear them apart first. That's what family's for, right? Yeah, that sounded pretty accurate. If his family members weren't so religious and fucking nosy, then he'd enjoy seeing them more often. But how could he get really excited for the holidays when he just _knew_ his Nana would have made sure everyone and their dog knew Jean drank alcohol illegally?

He was glad that he'd never be able to bring Marco to visit his family, otherwise, this year especially, it would have been an invasive nightmare. Maybe Marco was good at hiding his emotions in certain situations, but Jean knew Marco hadn't experienced the true hell of a dozen Catholics who think they belong in your business.

Nosy, and who act like they're starting a friendly conversation that's really just a bunch of passive aggressive, embarrassing remarks. They would pick Marco apart like vultures, all with smiles and laughter and some religious jokes that to this day, Jean didn't even understand. Jean liked to see Marco squirm, but he couldn't imagine having to put Marco through something like that.

Jean didn't know that much about the family members that Marco visited every year, since Marco never really said much about them. But he always seemed to have a lot of fun when he went to see them, so they couldn't have been as embarrassing as Jean's.

He looked down at his phone, sighing. Marco hadn't texted him back yet, maybe he was sleeping? Marco's family had quite a long drive and had already left the day before. Jean imagined what Marco would look like, asleep in the backseat of a car, snoring. Oh, what Jean wouldn't give to snuggle up next to him when he was like that....

Jean pinched himself to get the stupid smile off of his face, and cursed himself for not spending more time with Marco before he left. It wasn't like he'd avoided him, either, but Jean had fought so hard with himself not to let his over confidence screw things up. Jean tried to hold Marco's fucking hand the other day, and the excuse he'd made up when Marco questioned it? That his hands were cold. While they were _inside_ his house.

This would be good, though! Great even. He needed some time away from Marco, it would help keep Jean from developing some weird obsessive co-dependency complex that made it impossible for him to function without Marco constantly being around and validating his existence. "Pffft, like I'd ever be that weak...." Jean laughed to himself, shoving the ridiculous and stupid idea out of his mind.

Jean made sure to pack a few extra sets of clothes, y'know, just... in case. He really wasn't planning on doing any masturbating, really, he wasn't. But he never planned to do _most_ of the unspeakable things involving masturbating in the past, so, at least if he had a moment of weakness or two, he'd definitely always have something to change into immediately afterwards without worrying.

What else did he need? He had his toothbrush, his toothpaste, clothes, yep. Laptop, various chargers, ... that was it, right? Jean closed his suit case and zipped it up anyway, figuring if he'd forgotten something his mother would just nag him about it in the morning. With that, Jean tossed it onto the floor and crawled into bed, checking his texts again. No response.

Disappointed, but not surprised, he shut his phone off and tossed it onto the suitcase. He'd talk to Marco in the morning, on the car ride. It would keep him entertained on the monotonous 3 hour trip. He knew he definitely wouldn't have much time to check his phone once they actually got to their destination. In fact it would be as if he didn't have a phone at all. But it's the Christmas season, so Jean couldn't complain much.

* * *

Unfortunately, Jean didn't get any responses from Marco during the whole trip up, which made him feel desperate and petty every time he got a text from someone else. But it was fine. Things would be alright, Jean would just have to check his phone while using the bathroom later. They had pulled into the driveway of the huge, ugly red bricked house that Jean's Nana had lived in for as long as he could remember.

Soon enough, it would be family bonding time. He'd talked with his Nana a little bit the month before, when his mother had dragged him all the way up just to go to church as punishment for drinking. But there wasn't much positive catching up between him and his Nana then, and it was a short-lived meeting that only served as a way to teach Jean a lesson.

But, Jean smiled anyway. He may not have been consistent in his belief system, or liked hearing about religion from this half of his family, but he did love to visit his Nana. She was a sweet old lady, and Jean figured that's where his mother got her personality, but she had a sixth sense that was all too accurate. She always knew when Jean needed to talk to someone for advice, and when it was best to just bake him a plate of brownies and leave him be. A trait his mother didn't seem to have picked up quite as well.

All the chaos of Christmas and the invasive nature of his family was worth it, every time. They meant well, as annoying as they were. Plus, Christmas was days away. It'd be a while before other people arrived. Jean and his mother lived the closest, and they'd at least get today to enjoy some quiet time. The hell and embarrassment would come eventually, though.

Jean pulled his suitcase out of the car, which was much more full after his mother had, as he guessed, told him to pack more things into it that he wasn't going to before. It was heavy now, and Jean had to pull it slowly up the driveway to avoid it bumping and flipping over a stray rock or pile of packed ice left over from the last snow storm.

"Jeany, you go right inside, I'm still trying to gather some things." His mother said, giving a little wave. Jean turned around and scoffed, "Mom, you can't take everything in with one trip! I'll put my suitcase inside and grab the rest of the stuff." He sounded annoyed, but he was just concerned about his mother's back, it always seemed to hurt more when it got cold. It was just stupid to try and take everything in at once, what do you gain from that, pride? Jean knew all about doing stupid shit because he's stubborn, but it's not like his mother had anyone to impress but herself.

He rolled his eyes and started to walk to the front door a little faster. He'd tell his Nana, then she could intervene. If he wasn't allowed to argue with his mom, then his mom wasn't allowed to argue with hers. Jean rang the doorbell and waited, trying to ignore the sounds of his mother huffing as she opened and closed the car doors, putting things back and rearranging them in her arms.

The door opened slowly, and Jean was greeted by the smiling face of his Nana. She was short and she had greying hair, and sometimes she walked too slow. But she was lively as ever, and she gave Jean a kiss on the cheek, "Oh good, you made it here alright!" She peered over Jean's shoulder and shook her head. "Don't tell me you left your mother over there to do all the heavy lifting?"

Jean sighed, his shoulders slumping, "No, Nana, she insisted that she get eeeverything herself. And hi." His Nana shifted to the side, "Of course she did, dear, come right in." Jean pushed the extended handle of the suitcase down and picked it up, carrying it into the house. His Nana stayed outside and waved, "Sweetheart you put those things down right now, I just brewed some tea!"

He could hear some form of argument between the two of them commence, but Jean didn't need to hear it. Instead he went into the living room, setting his suit case down in one of the corners before carefully taking his shoes off. It smelled like Christmas. Jean wasn't even sure what "Christmas smell" was, maybe it was the pine tree in the back of the room, or the cinnamon sticks that had been tied to some of the branches.

Jean didn't know but he'd been hoping every year that Yankee Candle could somehow recreate the scent. Every year he was disappointed, like how Santa would never deliver on the puppy he asked for. Luckily, when Jean was 11, he realized Santa wasn't real and stopped getting his hopes up each year. Still, Jean asked his mom for a dog every year instead since then.

He took a look around the huge tree, checking to see what new ornaments his Nana had put on it this year. She never added too many to the collection, otherwise the tree would look like a disgusting, shiny mess by now. There were already a few wrapped presents under the tree, and in the past Jean would have checked them all to see whose names were on them, hoping that one would be his and he could tear the paper off before Christmas actually came.

But now he knew better; His Nana would never put presents under the tree early if they were for "the children". Jean just hoped that it wouldn't be a bible, like the year he turned 13. He'd never frowned so much on Christmas morning in his life. Still, Jean was excited anyway. Christmas at his Nana's was a tradition as far as he could tell. Shitty presents or not, opening them on Christmas morning was the highlight of his vacation every year without fail.

Hearing the chatter from his mother and Nana get louder, Jean stepped away from the Christmas tree. He didn't need to get yelled at by them both for touching the delicate little ornaments. It looked like his Nana had won out in the argument, because his mother wasn't even carrying half of what was in the car when she stepped into the living room.

"I see Hitch didn't come with you, what is she up to these days? We almost never talk anymore." Jean cringed internally as his Nana mentioned that name. Hitch, was one of his many cousins, and she'd been mooching off of Jean and his mother for two years. Hitch wasn't even her real name, but when Jean was younger and decided to tease her, persistently calling her by her old name, she climbed up the tree he was in once and pushed him out of it.

It broke his arm and two ribs, so needless to say, Jean never mentioned Hitch's name change again. They never got along well after that, either. He was glad that she only came home at night, and spent the day a city over attending some college or whatever. Jean liked to pretend that Hitch didn't even exist, and used to have constant arguments with his mother about "letting her live and breathe their oxygen".

Jean's mother set everything she'd been holding down by the couch, "Oh she said something about spending time with a friend this year, I didn't push, but I'm guessing she's got a new boyfriend." She said it so casually, and Jean figured this was just his mom's way of subtly telling him to get over the past and care about his family more. Bleh.

Though he did wonder how the boyfriend was working out for her, if what he heard was true. Could even Hitch get a boyfriend before Jean could? Was Jean really that ugly? It couldn't be that he was an asshole. If everyone from Eren to Hitch could get a date, clearly, being nice wasn't part of the equation. But Jean shook the thoughts from his mind. He didn't need to think about getting a date with anybody except Marco, and the time for that was far off.

Jean followed the two women out of the living room and down the hall towards the kitchen. When would his Nana get someone to tear some walls down and bring an open concept into the house? Jean hated walking around in hallways to get to rooms that would be perfectly easy to access if there weren't walls fucking everywhere. He watches House Hunters Renovations, he knows these things!

The dining room was off the kitchen, but there was still a little table in the corner of the kitchen that was perfect for just a few people. Jean didn't need to tell his Nana how he liked his tea. He hated tea, really, but if you add enough sugar to something it tastes great, and that's just how he took his tea whenever he was forced to drink it. There was no such thing as soda in his Nana's house unless there was a birthday party for children. Only various nasty fruit juices made their home in his Nana's fridge.

As soon as he got his cup of tea flavored sugar water, Jean started to drink it immediately. He didn't have anything to drink on the way up, and he'd been rushed out of the house by his mother before he could grab a can of soda or two.

"Jean!" The shout of his name startled him, and Jean nearly choked on his tea as he met his mother's eyes nervously. "Yesmom?" He muttered quickly. "You drink like that and you'll have everyone thinking I don't take good care of you." Was that all? Jean resisted the urge to roll his eyes, sipping his tea more slowly. "I'm just thirsty, and it's just Nana, she knows you take care of me alright."

His mother shook her head, "No, the second you get your hands on some soda or apple cider you'll do the same thing. Speaking of, you should stay away from the cider when everyone else gets here, they might think you're drinking the alcoholic kind."

Jean gritted his teeth and set his cup of tea down, wishing he could make some kind of retort to that. But she was right, if he sat around chugging apple cider, a good hand full of his family members would assume he was an alcoholic now and was drinking the hard stuff. The nosy, dense, stupid assholes. Just because Jean got drunk, once, and he and his mother didn't practice the whole Catholic thing, they just _had_ to assume the worst.

Maybe, if Jean were more comfortable making an ass out of himself around his family, he'd be determined to drink as much apple cider as possible to make them uncomfortable. But no, Jean couldn't handle that kind of thing now. He'd have to settle for them judging him while all he did was sit back and pretend it didn't bother him.

Luckily his Nana was there to pull them away from the negative subject, "Oh stop it, you're so hard on him. That's all in the past now, you brought him up here, took him to church, gave him time to think on things. Why don't you tell me what you've been doing since then, hm?" Jean's mother set her cup of tea down and shook her head. "I am not too hard on him! You were just as hard on me when I was his age-- You spoil him too much!"

Jean looked away and sighed, slumping in his chair and looking out the window. Why couldn't they argue about it over the phone, like, last week? He wasn't expecting a stress free vacation, but still.

"Well if you'd had more children, I wouldn't have to spoil him so much." At that, Jean's eyes widened and he immediately got up, "Yeah okay, I'm gonna go unpack." There was no way he was sticking around for this argument, oh no, he'd seen his Nana and his mother bicker about this subject before a couple of years ago.

It was embarrassing, and he really didn't like to hear about all the struggle and pain of things like, being pregnant, and food cravings, and the actual birth part of it all and how his mother never wanted to go through with it again. The first time he'd witnessed the discussion, he made the mistake of asking why his mother didn't just adopt another kid so that he could have someone to play with all the time. That was, of course, back when Jean had no real friends. Regardless, he knew now not to take sides when the subject crawled out of whatever hole it was hiding in.

Jean was glad to get away from the noise of it as quickly as possible as he hurried down the hallway towards the living room. He picked up his suit case and started to slowly make his way towards the stairs, and he tried his best not to fall backwards or drop it on the way up. Every year, he'd been stuck in the same room to sleep in for vacation, and up until he was 10 he refused to sleep in it and ended up running to the room his mother had been sleeping it.

There were no windows, and 10 year old Jean thought it was too dark and scary, so it might as well have just been a damn prison. What kind of room doesn't have windows? Once again, he thought about how much good a renovation would do for the house. It's not like his Nana didn't have the money, she could hire someone to do it. After all, she had people do pretty much everything for her these days. Someone put that giant tree up in the living room, and it certainly wasn't his Nana.

Jean flicked the light switch on as he entered the room and leaned his suitcase up against the wall. He checked his phone; Still no response from Marco. Jean scrunched his nose up in annoyance, wondering what the hell Marco was doing for so long that he didn't have time to send a simple hello. Maybe he forgot the car charger for his phone? Whatever. Jean tried not to think about it, bending down to unzip his suit case and take out the important stuff.

There were only two outlets in the room, one of which was being occupied by the dinosaur T.V. sitting on a dresser. Jean immediately prioritized his phone over his laptop, plugging in its charger. If he really needed his laptop later, he could plug it in while he was using it. But Jean needed to make sure he'd always have his phone ready for whenever he needed a break from his family.

He plopped himself down on the twin sized bed in the corner and sighed, disappointed that it smelled less like Christmas upstairs and more like fabric softener, and whatever it was his Nana used to clean the wooden floors. How long should he wait before going back downstairs? Knowing his mom and Nana, they'd probably move right out from the argument and into some dumb conversation about, who knows, the weather or his mother's book club.

The holiday mayhem that was creeping up on everyone made looking through Facebook a complete bore, too. Everyone was mostly busy, or like Jean, they weren't doing anything exciting. He wrote a quick status about how he was bored to tears, and then got up to plug his phone into the charger.

Maybe House Hunters was on, and Jean could waste the day away judging rich assholes for being so nit-picky. Not that Jean wouldn't be exactly the same way if he had the money to buy his own house, but still! He grabbed the T.V. remote and sat back down on the bed, and was happy to see the little marathon icon at the corner of the screen when he got to the right channel. He wasn't a big fan of House Hunters International, because all the houses were so tiny, but it would satisfy him for now.

* * *

A few hours into his marathon, Jean had gotten hungry, and that's when he realized he could smell something that must have been some sort of food. Jean's brilliant nose at work again, he couldn't determine what it was that he was actually smelling. Was it pasta? Cupcakes? Grilled cheese? He couldn't tell yet, he was too far away. Knowing it must've been good anyway for him to smell it from upstairs, Jean hopped off the bed, grabbed his phone and made his way to the kitchen

He checked the time on his phone before stuffing it in his pocket. It was around 4 p.m., which was a weird time for lunch or dinner. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Jean looked around frantically. His Nana was at the stove, stirring a spoon in a large pot full of... something. Yeah, Jean still couldn't tell what it was.

"Hey, uh, Nana? What're you making?" Jean asked, trying to stand on his toes a bit to see what was being made without getting too close. He didn't want to get slapped for being reckless, because apparently, even at his age it was considered a danger to be near the stove while it was on. At least under his Nana's roof anyway.

She smiled, "Just some soup." Jean chewed on the inside of his lip and frowned, leaning on the counter. What was the deal? He didn't _like_ soup! "Oh." Jean grumbled, not even remotely hiding the disappointment in his voice. What happened to the good old days where he'd get surprised with his favorite foods? Was he too old for that now?

"It's not for you, it's for tomorrow night." His Nana continued, shaking some kind of seasoning into the pot as she continued stirring. Jean was even less excited, and now he was confused. "It's... not even night time yet so? Why are you making it now?" Jean knew that sometimes cooking took so long for some things, that you had to make them a good 12 hours or more in advance, but soup? Maybe if it were a pot roast he'd buy it but, soup? Salty water needed to be made this far in advance?

It wasn't even like it was a stew-- Which is completely different from soup, and Jean loves stew. His Nana nodded, "Mhmm! It tastes better reheated in the microwave the next day. Your mother insisted I make it this year, but you sound so disappointed, do you want me to make you something?" Jean shrank back, feeling embarrassed and stupid. Of course his Nana wouldn't be making anything in something as big as that soup pot just for him, _two days_ before Christmas. She had other things to worry about.

Not wanting to seem like a greedy, entitled asshole, Jean shook his head and walked over to the pantry, "Nah no I'll just, I'm just gonna have some toast. So uh, where is my mom?" But Jean should have tried a little harder to pretend he wasn't hungry. His Nana just wouldn't stand for it if he was hungry and she didn't get him something to eat.

"I sent her to the store to get some extra things for dinner on Christmas, she wanted to drag you with her but I told her not to bother. And nonsense, put the bread away! I'll make you some pancakes!" She gestured for Jean to sit at the corner table, and he complied immediately. "But it's like 4 o'clock." He was making arguments against it, but that was just his guilt talking. He was always down for pancakes, and he knew his Nana wouldn't back down from making him food now.

Just as he expected, his Nana continued pulling ingredients from around the kitchen. "Yes and you love pancakes! I'm no fool, I know your mother doesn't have the energy to make you a big, fancy breakfast like she used to. Do you want them with chocolate chips, or blueberries? How about bananas?"

Jean was glad that his Nana hadn't been looking at him then, because he wasn't about to explain his sudden disgust for bananas. "Chocolate chips are fine!" It _had_ been a while since he'd last eaten home made pancakes, and the anticipation and excitement was quickly washing away the shameful memory.

Even though Jean wasn't up for much chit chat, his Nana decided to start up a conversation anyway. "How've you been doing? We didn't talk that much last time you visited. Your mother says you're doing just fine in school, but how are, you know, other things?" Jean wasn't quite sure what she meant by that. Clearly, she was trying to be subtle about something.

"I don't think my art's improved that much since spring, but, I think I'm better at drawing animals now? I still can't draw human faces without getting upset though...." Jean sighed, internally promising to get back to doing more art stuff when he got home. He hadn't really done too much as far as practice went, not since around the time school started.

But as the minutes went by with silence as his Nana mixed the batter and began to pour the first pancake into the frying pan, Jean realized what "other things" she'd been referring to. "Th-there's nothing like that going on! Did my mom say something to you? Nothing's going on!" Jean was blushing, looking down at the table in an attempt to avoid any more questions. He wasn't a very good liar, and his Nana's 6th sense was a force to be reckoned with.

His Nana nodded, "Alright, if you say so. Your mother hasn't said a word to me about anything 'like that', I was just curious. You are getting to that age, you know!" Ew. Jean shuttered on the inside, not wanting to think about his Nana's implications.

The room stayed silent for a while, nothing but the flipping of pancakes and the gentle bubbling of the soup there to fill the void. Jean occasionally checked his phone, but never for very long. He knew that if his Nana saw him paying attention to it rather than enjoying "family bonding time" she would snap it up and keep it in her room until at least the next day. Jean obviously didn't want that.

Jean saw his Nana turn the soup pot's burner off before pouring the last of the pancake batter into the pan, and he just couldn't wait. One more pancake, maybe, 5 more minutes, and then he could eat. What had he eaten today? A bag of chips on the way up? Garbage compared to fresh, hot chocolate chip pancakes. Visiting his Nana every Christmas definitely _was_ worth it!

He watched, his mouth watering, as his Nana started to layer the pancakes onto a plate with a piece of butter smeared between each one. All he could think was how weak and pathetic people who only put syrup on their pancakes were. Butter, and more butter, or what's the point in eating them? They're flavorless dough discs otherwise!

When Jean was younger, he might have just torn into the pancakes with his bare hands and made a mess without care. But he was nearly an adult now, and as the plate of pancakes was set in front of him he easily resisted picking one up with his hand as his Nana went to get a fork. Easily. So... easy... Jean could _definitely_ resist all day long! Until of course, he was given a fork and immediately stabbed at them as if they were his mortal enemy.

His Nana sat down in the chair across from him, not seeming to care if Jean ate fast or not. She didn't even say a word as Jean shoved piece after piece of pancake into his mouth like he was in some sort of eating competition. The only thing Jean could think about this situation that was negative, was that there wasn't anything good to wash it down besides water. Fruit juice or tea would not taste very well with all of the chocolate he was eating.

After the nearly mindless flurry of shoving pancakes down his throat, barely half chewed, Jean took a moment to think of what to say. It wasn't like he needed to tell his Nana that the pancakes were _good_. If they weren't good he wouldn't have devoured them like he did. He looked around the room for a moment, and his eyes landed on the huge soup pot. "Thanks, Nana. So, uh, the soup... why does my mom want you to make it this year?"

His Nana, thankfully not commenting on Jean's sloppiness, folded her hands on the table and gave a little "oh" in acknowledgement. "Well, I used to make it all the time for your mom when she was younger. We were talking about it when you left earlier-- She was _always_ hungry for soup when she was pregnant with you! I barely had any food left in the house by the time you were born, oh it was a nightmare."

Oh. That wasn't the story Jean wanted to hear. It always freaked him out when he had to be reminded of the fact that his mom _had sex_ at least once in her life, and that was how Jean was _made_. Disgusting! Jean's favorite part about his family's religion? The part where some woman has a baby without having sex with someone first! Jean was stunned with silence, grossed out at the thought, so he didn't pay much mind when his Nana said she'd be right back and left the room.

She came back with a couple of photo albums, and Jean immediately wanted to groan as he noticed them. He knew exactly where this was going, and he wasn't exactly thrilled about it. He'd heard the story he knew his Nana was about to tell, at least 10 times now. "I was just, so shocked when your mother, she was about your age now that I think of it, when she started dating your father." Jean wanted to roll his eyes.

His Nana sat down again, flipping open the first photo album and turning the plastic pages. "One day she was so _well behaved_ and the next, she won't listen to half of what I say! Going on, and on about how in love she was. She was out the door at 18, oh, running away together-- It's so romantic. And so stupid, please, dear, don't do that to your mother. It won't end well." Of course it wouldn't end well, it hadn't before with his parents, why would he think it'd work for him or anyone else?

Jean stayed silent, leaning on his hand and staring out the window again. He'd let the old lady talk about the good ol' days before the internet. Did they have internet when his mom was 18? Nah, probably not. They probably didn't even have computers. Or did they? What the hell did people _do_ before computers?

She continued, "'Said she wouldn't have anymore of church, and she didn't want any of my help-- Even though she clearly needed it. She got into so much trouble while she was off living her little fairy tale, I was so happy when she came back. And I don't know what she must've learned putting herself through it, but--" Jean rolled his eyes then, "But she didn't regret a thing because the best thing she got out of it was me. Yeah Nana, I know. I _know_ , this is the last time you have to tell me that story."

His Nana pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side and giving Jean a look, "Ohhh don't give me that famous attitude I hear about. Don't you enjoy knowing your parents' relationship was so exciting and rebellious?" No, no Jean didn't like to hear about it. Not really. It wasn't that he hated it, just, it was lame. He was only born because his mom was irresponsible and stupid when she was a teenager. "It's not exciting, it's embarrassing!"

"Memories are important, though! I know you think it's embarrassing to know how you ended up being born, but isn't it sweet?" His Nana protested, turning the photo album upside down so that Jean could see the pictures. But Jean had already seen this page before. The wedding photo. The motorcycle that his parents had bought together. The picture someone had taken when he was born and his mother was holding him in the hospital bed. He'd seen it all before, and he didn't need to remember them, or the past that just barely had anything to do with him.

Before Jean could make some stupid, immature mistake like slamming the photo album closed, he felt a buzz in his pocket and quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket. He checked the screen for a second, and couldn't suppress the wide grin that instantly spread across his face. "'Scuse me I need to use the bathroom!" Jean said, nearly jumping out of his chair before walking as fast as possible towards the bathroom.

When he was in the privacy of the bathroom, Jean leaned back on the door and checked his texts. What the hell had taken Marco so long to get back to him?

> "oh my god I left my phone charger at home and we had to buy a new one. been stuck with nothing to do but listen to show tunes the whole ride, it was hell :( sorry 

Jean snorted, imagining the torture Marco must have been through, with no escape for hours and hours. It made him appreciate the relatively short drive he and his mother had to take when they visited his Nana. But just before Jean was about to send an excited hello, Marco sent another text. 

> "I need to unpack so no phone for a while, ttyl :)

Jean deleted everything he had planned on sending and went with a simple "k". Maybe that was cold and petty, but so what? He'd been excited to talk to Marco! This was like, an emotional roller coaster that lasted 3 minutes and ended with disappointment.

Sighing, Jean put his phone back into his pocket and shook himself a little, trying to calm his nerves and maybe knock the pout off of his face. He walked back into the kitchen much slower than he'd walked out, and he didn't think his Nana would mention anything as he sat down and pretended to be interested in the conversation again.

His Nana gave him a warm smile as she closed the first photo album and moved onto the next. "So, is she pretty?" Jean backed away in his chair, confused and wide eyed. "What?" Was who pretty? Who's 'she'? Was she referring to a photo? Did she want Jean to confirm whether or not some girl in a picture was attractive or not?

"You've been checking that thing constantly, don't think I haven't noticed. You'd smile sometimes, but for the most part you looked so bored. I'm old, but I'm not _that_ old, I saw how you smiled when you checked your phone last time. I promise I won't tell anyone, but tell me, is she pretty?" Her smile was killer, and Jean remembered what Armin had said about not making his feelings so damn obvious through actions. Too little too late for that.

Jean's mouth was gaping, and he knew his face was probably beet red by now. After a moment of panicked thoughts, he lowered his head and stared at his empty plate. He closed his mouth and chewed on the insides of his cheeks, trying to make his blushing go away. "I said th-there wasn't anything...." But as Jean said it, he knew it was pointless to deny it. "Yes they're pretty." He mumbled, fiddling with his own fingers.

He hadn't come out to anybody yet, at least not willingly considering Armin's nosy ass poking and prodding. His family might not have been filled with a bunch of homophobes, but he still wasn't prepared to take the heat of them questioning him about what it meant for his love life. So for now, he'd just pretend that Marco wasn't a man.

His Nana laughed, sounding quite overjoyed to hear it. "That's wonderful! Are things serious? Oh of course they are, the way you're acting it must be." Jean couldn't look her in the eye as he thought about how sad and pathetic the truth was. "It's not... it's not a-anything, okay? They don't... I don't think they even know."

It wasn't like he was looking for relationship advice from his _grandmother_ of all people, but maybe if he answered the little questions she would stop once she saw how uncomfortable Jean was with the subject. "A-and Nana, please, don't, don't give me some 'God has a plan, if it's meant to be it will be' kind of advice, o-okay?"

He heard tapping on the table and looked up to see his Nana tapping the surface with her nails. But he still wasn't about to look her in the eye, nope. "I understand your mother didn't raise you to believe in God as strongly as I'd have liked her too, don't worry. I couldn't give you advice about something so serious if you couldn't understand it. I won't even tell you what to do at all!"

Shocked, Jean lifted his head up, able to meet his Nana's eyes now. She wasn't going to tell him what to do? Was she feeling okay? Did she forget to take her vitamins in the morning? But before Jean could vocalize his confusion, she continued. "You're nearly through with high school, aren't you? Well, one of you, or both of you, will probably be off to college after that. Long distance relationships are very difficult to maintain, and I should know!"

Jean knew that his grandfather had served in the military, and that the only form of communication between them had been through letters. Jean wanted to cringe at the thought of not having the internet to talk to anybody around the world, or only being able to send one message at a time, weeks or even months apart.

"If you tell her now and everything works out, but you get separated, it'll be hard. If you never say a thing, you might regret it for a long time before you can move on. Remember Jean, a smart woman waits for no man! No matter how good of a man he is." She gave a gentle hum afterwards, flipping through some more of the photo album's pages.

But, that advice didn't even make sense. "Nana... you waited for your husband for years, didn't you?" He didn't want to imply that his Nana was dumb, but well, they were her own words! "I did, because I really loved him. Real love isn't smart-- You promise the best friend you've ever had that you'll spend the rest of your life with them, and that you'll never forget what makes them special. It's not _smart_ at all. I wasn't the brightest woman, but I was ready to wait forever for Daniel to come back home to me."

Jean wasn't sure how to feel about that. Especially at the use of the phrase "best friend". There was no way she knew that Jean was in fact, in love with his best friend, so it couldn't have been her subtly telling him to just go for it. But he could agree with her on one thing at least; Love was definitely stupid. It was a pain in Jean's ass and some days, he almost wished he didn't love Marco at all.

It wasn't like he was planning on marrying Marco, either. Even just spending the rest of his life with him seemed, as Armin put it, "excessive". That was way too much to think about in terms of the future, he couldn't worry about that! How could he when he was having such a hard time even making it clear to Marco how he felt? That and, Jean's personality coupled with his... lack of physical attractiveness wasn't giving him good chances. "I don't think it's gonna work out no matter what I do. I mean, look Nana, my face is... y'know."

At that, his Nana only scoffed and shook her head. "Oh, you hush. Your father didn't marry your mother for her face, that's for sure! And look, she has no regrets about anything. That's what's important, alright Jean? Try not to have too many regrets in life, you're too young to handle the stress! Now, speaking of which, your aunt Dianne used to get so jealous of your mother. Always asking why your mother got allll the boys' attention...."

Try not to regret things? Pfft! Regret was practically Jean's middle name. Shame, sin, regret, tears, it was what he was _made_ of. All joking aside, Jean didn't know what was the "best" thing to do, but he did know that if he never told Marco and they ended up going to separate colleges? He'd definitely regret it. Forget moving on, he'd take that kind of failure to his grave, crying and moping about it the whole time.

He'd tell Marco, really, he just needed a little more time. But he'd get around to it _before_ the end of the year. He had to.

* * *

The peace and quiet had been great, for the one day Jean had it. All night and into the next morning, he'd heard the door bell ring, and then the commotion of people coming into the house and exchanging greetings, bags and boxes being moved, people going up and down the stairs. He barely got any sleep, and it was terrible. But as he finally stretched and rolled out of his bed in the morning, he promised he would keep as many complaints to himself as possible.

It was Christmas Eve after all, he had too much to be happy for to have the day ruined this early. The question was whether or not to exit the safety of his room yet, and be subject to immediate socialization with his family. Or, should he just stay in his room texting his friends until he's forced to leave his room? It sounded like an easy choice, but he knew his family would only nag him for crawling out of bed too late if he waited too long.

Deciding he'd think it over in the bathroom, Jean dug his toothpaste and toothbrush out of his suitcase and cautiously opened his door. He had to make sure none of his family members were in sight, otherwise he'd be pulled into some kind of conversation. He heard some laughing from downstairs, and was reassured that anyone who was up was already socializing and out of the way.

He walked down the hallway as quickly and quietly as possible, not wanting to wake anyone up. Jean really didn't hate his family, despite how much he tried to avoid talking to them. It was just, he could barely handle socializing on a small level, and there wasn't much to talk about with a bunch of distant religious people. At least, nothing to talk about that Jean could appreciate. The longer he could go without the discomfort and humiliation, the better.

Jean was glad that no one was in the bathroom when he'd knocked, because then he'd have to wait for them to get out, and then they'd probably tell someone else that the small hideous alcoholic was awake. Realizing the reverse could happen just as easily, he made sure to rush through his morning routine.

Since his last masturbating incident, Jean had ditched the convenience of an electric toothbrush and had reverted back to a manual one. It felt like it was taking forever, but this was the price Jean had to pay for his sins. He hadn't shaved his legs in months either, which was slowly beginning to drive him nuts. He'd have to look into some kind of waxing alternative....

Just thinking about it all made it impossible for him to look at himself in the mirror, which was probably for the best. Even if his acne was less severe during the winter, he always thought that some of his family members were silently judging him for having such a hideous, oily pizza face. Before he hit puberty, his family used to joke that he would be "quite a looker" when he got older. And _damn_ were they wrong. They stopped with those jokes when Jean was 13, and he wasn't sure whether to be pleased or embarrassed by it.

After using the bathroom and then struggling to figure out which of the many bottles on the sink counter was soap that wouldn't suck all the moisture out of his hands, Jean ran his hands under steaming hot water. He was still in a hurry, he wanted out of the bathroom and back into his prison cell.

He froze as soon as he stepped back out of the bathroom, sniffing the air. Even if he couldn't identify every smell in the universe, he could smell the bacon scent in the air. If only he had waited a few more minutes before brushing his teeth! But Jean tried to relax himself by thinking that it was all a trap. A trap to drag everyone who was still asleep or locked in their rooms to get off their lazy asses and socialize.

Then he heard the sound of a knob turning, and Jean darted for his room. Maybe he'd have socialized if he could eat the bacon, but it'd be at least an hour before things stopped tasting like death and mint in his mouth. Why they hadn't invented toothpaste that could get the job done without being either cinnamon, bubblegum, or 50 variations of mint flavoring, Jean didn't know. Maybe that could be his life goal, making toothpaste not taste like shit.

In the safety of his room, Jean checked his phone to see who was awake. It was 10:30 a.m., so he guessed not a lot of people were awake yet. Marco was an hour behind now, and Jean figured that after the long drive and time change, his sleep schedule would be a complete mess. Still, Jean texted him to see if he was up anyway.

Minutes passed with no response, and Jean sighed. He'd just sit back and watch some holiday themed baking shows, getting the occasional message from some of his other friends. It was an alright way to spend the morning before Christmas, but he knew it wouldn't last, for better or worse.

The more movement he heard outside his door, the more he realized he didn't want to be "the last one up". Jean checked his phone again before getting up to charge it. There were no particularly exciting conversations he'd be leaving. It was mostly just talking about the excitement of Christmas and everyone's general plans.

On his mother's instruction, he'd brought a pair of slippers with him. And Jean was glad she'd told him to once he got downstairs, where it was much colder and the floor must've been absolutely freezing. Now, if his Nana could just renovate and put some heated flooring in, that would make the chillier seasons more enjoyable....

Jean looked into the living room as he passed it, noting all of the many pairs of shoes that now cluttered one corner of the room. There were also plenty of new wrapped gifts under the tree, which made him just a bit more excited. He continued down the hallway towards the kitchen, following the sound of conversation and Christmas music playing quietly.

The stove was off when he reached the kitchen, and he looked around for the bacon, but there wasn't any that he could see. Then Jean spotted the stack of plates with paper napkins on them, and he huffed. Bacon had been made, served, and now it was definitely gone. He slowly walked over to the entrance to the dining room and leaned in, "Uh, is there any um, bacon left?" He sounded so meek and shy and had he been conscious of it, he'd hate it.

Immediately, the group of adults who'd been laughing and talking around the table turned to look at Jean. "There you are! How long did you plan on sleeping before coming to greet your favorite aunt?" Jean's one and _only_ aunt, Dianne, asked as she got up and started walking over.

Jean stepped into full view and awkwardly accepted the hug from his aunt. Dianne was older than his mother, and yet, she looked like she'd only just hit 30. She was a giant in comparison to his short mother and his even shorter Nana, and Dianne claimed it was all because of some kind of healthy diet she was on, whatever, Jean didn't care if it involved vegetables and exercising. Jean just assumed she got a lot of plastic surgery done or something.

At one point in his life, Jean felt a little guilty that his mother had so much less money than her sister, because while she decided to keep Jean, Dianne never had any kids. Instead she'd apparently gone into modeling, then college, started a little business, and now she was rich and young looking. So Jean was always a little bit uncomfortable around this blonde haired, green eyed, wealthy Jill of all trades that was his _only_ aunt.

"Hello." It was all Jean said after he'd been released from the hug, wondering how fast he could back away and into the kitchen. He could see some of his older cousins and family members who were too distant for him to remember his relation to them, and he wasn't ready to get hugs and pats on the back from all of them. Sure, his mother was sitting at the table too, but she never saved him when it came to interacting with family. It was sink or swim, and she would let Jean drown in embarrassment every time.

But as soon as Jean had the chance to escape, his mother pulled out the chair next to her and patted the seat, "You missed breakfast, but you can have the rest of the scrambled eggs I didn't eat." Scrambled eggs weren't nearly as good as bacon, but maybe whoever made them used the bacon fat instead of butter in the pan they were in and he could pretend he wasn't disappointed.

Jean reluctantly did as he was told, trying to pass off his disappointment for tiredness. He muttered a short good morning towards everyone in the room as he sat down, staring at the half eaten plate of scrambled eggs in front of his mom. "Can I get a fork?" He asked, pulling the plate towards him. His mother shook her head and moved her fork over, "You're not wasting another fork, just use mine."

Accepting defeat, Jean picked up the fork and started to eat as quickly as he could force himself without looking like he was uncomfortable. But it would have been asking for too much, to assume that the adults in the room would continue with whatever conversation topic they'd previously been on. "What have you been up to, Jean? We heard you went partying recently and got your hands on some alcohol!" One of Jean's cousins asked, making him wince internally.

How fucking boring did their lives have to be for them to ask him about the party he went to, instead of talking about their own lives first? But there was no backing out of this now, even as his mother gave an exasperated sigh. Dianne sat down across from Jean's mother and laughed, "I wanted to ask you about that, too! You got drunk didn't you? Did you do it to impress a girl?"

Jean choked, dropping the fork on the table and coughing until tears were in his eyes. Once he swallowed and everyone was sure he was fine, some of them gave lighthearted laughter. He couldn't believe she'd just said that about him, and he quickly glanced at his mother to see how she had reacted. She was quiet, but she gave Jean a look. Maybe she didn't believe whatever story Marco had told her last month?

"I wasn't trying to impress anyone!" Jean defended himself, picking the fork back up and twirling it on the plate. He didn't want to keep eating, and he certainly didn't want to nearly die choking from hearing something ridiculous from his family again. One of Jean's, 3rd, 4th cousins? Jean could never remember how he was related to anyone past his second cousins. Regardless, one of his cousins gave a short nod and joined in on the conversation, his voice far too loud for comfort, "Look Valerie, your son's blushing! C'mon are you going to tell us who the lucky lady is?"

This was what Jean had been expecting, and he hated it. He knew his Nana wouldn't have ran her mouth to everyone the first chance she got, not after she said she wouldn't tell anyone. His family just had to assume things, that was all. "Stop it, there is no girl!" Even if he did think getting drunk would impress Marco, Jean would have never touched a single drop of alcohol unless he was asked to by someone he knew. But Jean didn't feel like he had to explain himself, even if it would get his nosy cousins and aunt to shut up.

Another one of Jean's cousins spoke up, "Nah I bet he was just having some fun. You know if you'd just taken him to church more often when he was growing up he wouldn't have needed to go to some wild college party." That was something Jean knew he definitely didn't want. More church? He remembered going to church at least once a month growing up, and he remembered hating it.

Jean tried to focus on the Christmas music, blocking out the white noise of teasing that his family considered so innocent. He knew that some of them were just doing it because teasing kids is something adults find funny, but he knew at least his aunt was genuinely curious and believed what she was saying.

Luckily, Jean's mother wasn't interested in hearing much more of the criticism and teasing, "I could have sworn I said that he had no idea he was drinking when it happened. That's what his best friend told me, and that boy doesn't lie."

His aunt shook her head, "His best friend who's, what, not Catholic? Not Christian? Teenagers have every reason to lie, honestly Valerie you can't take the word of his friends under those conditions. I remember college parties, I know how it is. I bet he's very sweet, he'd have to be to lie for Jean, but you have to think about the more realistic possibilities here!" Jean wanted to scoff. Yeah, Marco wasn't perfect and he could lie, he _did_ lie sometimes, and he certainly wasn't religious, but he was practically an angel he was so generous and caring.

But, his aunt did say that Marco must be sweet, so Jean stayed quiet. Marco _was_ sweet. If only things had ended there, then Jean could finish the eggs and flee like the intimidated baby he was. "Jean is getting older, and you're _positive_ he's not head over heels for a girl? You remember how we acted when we were his age. We haven't gotten any news about Jean in any relationships, getting drunk at a wild little party sounds exactly like something a boy would do to get noticed."

Jean had heard some stories from his Nana about how wild his aunt was, and how rebellious his mother had become after she "fell in love" when they were both still teenagers. But he grew tired of those stories a long time ago, and he'd forgotten most of them. He was positive that his social life was far more mundane compared to the ones his mom and aunt had when they were growing up, though.

"Ohhh just _stop_ , all of you. You're giving me a head ache. Jean," His mother turned to him, "Look at me, and tell me there's no mysterious lucky girl out there you're chasing after." Jean's face was still red as he slowly turned to meet his mother's gaze, "There is no girl."

His mother's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Jeany?" _Shit._ Maybe something in him had been weakened by the onslaught of teasing, or his face was just too red, or his inability to stay confident around his family making him easier to read? Whatever it was, Jean knew then and there that his mother had realized there was a lie somewhere in there.

"Who'll help me wash and peel potatoes?" Jean's Nana asked, her head poking into the dining room. Jean stood up immediately, his chair screeching loudly as it was pushed back at the force. "Me!" Jean grabbed the plate and fork he'd been using from the table, turned, and walked out of the room as fast as he could. "Well doesn't _he_ look guilty!" He heard one of his female cousins say, followed by laughter and chatter erupting from the room.

Jean scraped the last of the eggs into the trash and set the dirty dishes in the sink, before looking over at the mountain of golden potatoes sitting on the counter. His Nana smiled, "Don't you worry about all of that. You look so upset, why don't you take it out on all these potatoes? Then you can peel the carrots, too!" She handed him a peeler, and Jean was glad to have something to distract him.

He started to monotonously wash each potato one by one, setting them aside in a bowl on the counter. Jean could still hear people talking in the dining room, people coming and going occasionally as time passed. Any time someone went through the kitchen, Jean stared into the sink and concentrated on washing the potatoes alone, hoping to avoid any interaction with his other family members.

Some of them, who hadn't been in the dining room to mock him, gave him greetings and asked him things, but he would only shrug or grunt in response. He was busy and thinking hard, and his Nana wasn't always in the kitchen either. Still, he tried to make the potatoes his only focus, eventually moving on to peeling them. At first it had been rough and uneven, and he nearly cut himself. But as fewer people bothered him, Jean relaxed, and he could peel the potatoes without shucking away too much of the potatoes' flesh.

Eventually, his Nana had asked for more help with prepping some of the food, and the kitchen was a bit tight to move around in. Unfortunately, his mother had been one of the new helpers. He tried to ignore her as she took a spot in the kitchen next to him, dicing some onions on a cutting board and tossing the root ends into the sink when she was done with one.

But his mother didn't stay silent for long. "Christmas is so hectic, isn't it? Starting a lot of the side dishes a day early, just to heat them up in the oven again tomorrow, helps a lot. We'd have to do so many more dishes on Christmas if we didn't do this, and cooking for so many is stressful." Jean had no idea where the conversation was going or what point it had.

He already knew the little "trick" of starting some dishes the day before, or making them completely and finishing them off on Christmas morning to avoid cooking and cleaning all Christmas day. Jean stayed silent as his mother continued, "Jeany, I don't want to ruin Christmas for you, or this vacation. So, we need to talk about what you said at breakfast, but I'll wait until the holidays are over, okay?"

Jean stayed silent, and just gave a shrug. All he could think about was how everything just seemed to be falling apart this year involving his feelings for Marco, despite his best efforts. He knew he couldn't keep it a secret forever, but still, he had planned to try anyway. Hopefully by the time the holiday season was over, Jean would have already confessed his feelings to Marco and things would be fine.

Now he had even more reason to tell Marco before the end of the year. If his mother found out the truth sooner, well, Jean didn't know exactly what she would do. Tease him? Tell Marco for him? He didn't know, he just knew it would be a complete nightmare.

* * *

Jean had stopped making hand made gifts for his family years ago, after he realized that his art skills were shit and that everything he made probably got tossed into a storage bin every year. So instead, Jean had just borrowed money from his mother each year and bought the cheapest garbage he could find at the mall.

This year was no different, but Jean was having a hard time wrapping everything. Everyone was getting soaps, lotions, or candles from Bath & Body Works, and they were not easy to discreetly wrap. "'Couldn't make some normal shaped fucking bottles could they?" Jean muttered as he glanced at the clock. It would probably be time to eat soon, and he knew he wouldn't have the energy to wrap everything after eating.

There was barely any space on the living room floor to work with, since the pile of gifts had only gotten higher and higher under and around the tree throughout the day. Jean ripped the wrapping paper multiple times while rolling it out, and it showed on each thing he'd wrapped. Maybe Jean was an artist, but he couldn't wrap presents to save his life. Especially when they're not in perfectly square boxes.

 _Extra_ especially when someone decides to buy wrapping paper without the grids on the back! How the hell was he supposed to know if he was cutting a straight, even line or not? He was only getting frustrated, and he was glad that most of his friends' presents were safely at home and had been wrapped perfectly by his mother. At least they'd have an aesthetically pleasing time ripping the paper off their gifts.

A simple solution would be to just get his mother to do it, but Jean was still uneasy about what had happened at breakfast even though she told him they'd discuss it after they got back home. That, and Jean refused to be defeated by some paper and bath products. Even if the presents wouldn't be pretty, he was going to wrap each and every one of them with a pretty bow slapped on and everything. Paper cuts and taped fingers be damned.

Plus, there was sentimental value in wrapping everything himself. It showed he cared at least a little bit for his family's happiness. Nothing says "I love you" like throwing around meaningless over priced soap wrapped in meaningless over priced paper that'll just get thrown away _anyway_. But it's the thought that counts, the gift of giving, the holiday spirit or, something? Whatever, everyone was getting free shit, that's what really mattered.

"Jeany, are you done wrapping presents yet? The pizza will be here any minute!" His mother asked as she walked by, counting some cash in her hand. Jean grumbled and shrugged in response, but he started to rush anyway. He enjoyed their little Christmas Eve tradition of ordering out because no one had the energy to cook or go out to eat. This year was pizza, thankfully. Last year they'd went with some Chinese food place and Jean had to suffer with eating just some white rice and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich afterwards. He despised Chinese food.

At least some of his family members wouldn't be at dinner tonight. Some of them, like his aunt Dianne, always chose to eat out instead and come back later. Tomorrow though it would be chaos at breakfast and lunch/dinner, and Jean would have to psyche himself up for that later.

When he heard the doorbell ring and noticed his mother hurrying towards the front door, Jean started to skip putting bows on the presents. The only thing that needed to be on them really were gift tags, the bows were just extra decoration, right? He didn't want all of his cousins taking the good slices while he was still sitting back and fighting with wrapping paper.

His mother came back, stopping in front of the living room with a huge stack of pizza boxes in her arms, "Oh, Jeany just stop, we can put the presents in gift bags instead after dinner. You're wasting too much paper with the way you're doing it." Jean bit the inside of his lip and breathed out of his nose, annoyed and embarrassed. So he wasn't the most efficient wrapper of presents, and? At least they were getting wrapped! It was better than just sticking a bow on something and calling it a day.

But he was hungry and frustrated, so he inhaled to calm himself down and pushed everything away from him. Once his mother was out of sight, Jean got up and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands off and get some band aids so that he wouldn't get salty pizza grease and garlic into his paper cuts. Just imagining it made Jean's hands itch, and though it was a bit excessive, he made sure to get every single little cut covered. Next year, Jean would remember to wrap everything before making the trip to his Nana's.

There was much more talking and commotion than there had been in the morning, but Jean figured it was a good thing. If everyone was already busy talking to each other, they'd only pull him into conversations that were about them. It probably wouldn't be a repeat of breakfast, so he grabbed a plate off the stack that was on the counter and tried to make his face relax a little. He didn't need anyone asking him why he looked like such a sourpuss.

Jean took a random seat at the dining room table, knowing there was no safe place to sit now that his mother was probably constantly wondering what Jean was getting into. And just because his Nana was sweet and caring didn't mean she wouldn't find something to tease Jean about if given the opportunity.

"Would anyone like something else? There's soup!" He heard his Nana call from the kitchen, but there were very few people in the world who truly didn't like pizza, and almost no one complained about it. Less for Jean, what a shocker.

Knowing he'd be scolded if he ate before everyone else had their food, Jean resisted the urge to dig in as he pulled some slices of pizza from the various boxes and onto his plate. He leaned back in his chair and pulled out his phone, checking to see how his friends were spending their Christmas Eve. "Hey, Jean's using his phone at dinner!"

Jean immediately looked a few seats over to see his slightly younger cousin, Thomas, pointing his finger at him. Thomas' mother, who Jean was desperately trying to remember the name of, leaned over the table and snatched away Jean's phone. "I'll be taking that, thank you." Jean blinked for a few seconds, his mind registering what had just happened. He nearly slammed his hands down on the table, " _MOM!_ Tell her to give it back!"

But his mother only sighed and shook her head, sitting down on the other side of the table with a bowl of reheated soup, "You know the rules, Jeany. It's family time, you can talk to your friends later." Jean balled his hands into fists and whipped his head around, glaring at Thomas, "You tattle tale-ing little _shit_ , what'd you do that for!?" A few people in the room gasped gently at Jean's swearing, including Thomas.

Jean was never very friendly with him, mainly because Thomas was a fucking loser-- More of a loser than Jean. He'd been raised going to church multiple times a week, went to Catholic school, and clearly never swore. It made Jean glad his mother hadn't raised him the way her family wanted her too, because if Jean was a perfect little Catcholic boy who probably washed his mouth out with soap after saying "dang", he'd probably never have friends. It was a terrifying mental image.

"Put a quarter in the cursing jar, you're _definitely_ not getting this back for a few days." Thomas's mother said, shaking the phone in her hand. Jean looked at his mother, who simply gave him a stern look and said, "No laptop either." Jean was absolutely fuming, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

As the room reverted back to its more cheerful atmosphere, with Thomas moving a few seats even further away from his previous seat, Jean huffed and sat back down. "Well how am I supposed to talk to my friends? We were talking about Christmas stuff, what's wrong with that!?" As much as Jean loved House Hunters, he couldn't stand the idea of having nothing but that to do in his spare time besides socialize with his family.

His mother looked disappointed, "Honestly, Jean, you can't go a few hours or days without talking to them? You can talk about 'Christmas stuff' after you're done spending time with your family. I'm sure they have their own families to spend time with, so don't give me that attitude." Jean stared down at his pizza in silence, ignoring his family's cheerful spirit and any attempts at conversation they tried to make with him.

This was horrible, and as Jean finally began to eat his pizza, he froze for a second before blinking and getting back to eating as normal. How long, exactly, would he have to wait? He wanted to tell Marco how he felt at least before New Year's Eve, and if he couldn't use his laptop and phone for the rest of the trip, then what? They'd drive back home on the 30th and that would literally be the only day Jean would have to say anything.

Maybe if he kissed up to his family, they'd give him his phone back in a couple of days. The laptop wasn't entirely necessary, he could use skype on his phone if he really had no choice. Part of Jean wondered if his mother told him he couldn't use his computer just so that he wouldn't be able to talk to "the girl" she clearly thought existed.

He never talked to his mom about his crushes, maybe she was upset about that and wanted to keep Jean from talking to them until she had all the details. Maybe if he came out and told her that "the girl" was Marco, she'd let him use his phone? No, no that was an awful idea. That wasn't something he wanted to do while there was no escape from his family. Jean would just have to try and enjoy Christmas and not look so bitter and anxious all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry what was that?? You didn't come here for a domestic AU where Jean spends a lot of his time with his family?? Oops. One more chapter, that will be slightly longer than this one. That's where the smut and Jean/Marco interactions will go down. Please leave a comment, let me know if I should stick to cutting the fic parts into chapters or if it was better with one large wall of text.


	2. There's Sinning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the sinning is beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason this wasn't posted at the same time as the first chapter was because I immediately posted the first chapter once I was done editing it. Editing takes a long time, it's depressing. What day is it  
> (also I rewrote the smut because I didn't think it was sinful enough oops)

Christmas hadn't been nearly as awful as Jean had expected it to be, despite not having his phone or his laptop. He _did_ throw the gift he'd gotten for Thomas into the woods before it was time to open gifts, but he played it off like he just didn't have the money to buy lotion for everyone. His mother had pulled him to the side at some point to tell him she knew he was lying, and that he wouldn't get his laptop back for an extra day. Was it worth it? Definitely.

Jean had gotten some pretty alright gifts, too. Lots of warm socks, some art supplies, _money_ , and some other little things that weren't too special. No puppy though. A lot of the gifts his family had given him had something to do with religion, and Jean tried to ignore it when he opened those presents to preserve their annoyingly persistent hopes that Jean would see the light and practice Catholicism permanently.

Even lunch/dinner hadn't been too bad, but the Saturday after Christmas had been such a chore. Cleaning up all the mess of candy wrappers, paper, and washing dishes wasn't what Jean considered fun. But his plan to suck up to his family so that he could get his phone back early meant cleaning even though he didn't want to. Luckily for him, it worked.

Jean was exhausted by the time he dragged himself up into the privacy of his room, and was surprised to see that his phone was next to the T.V. hooked up to the charger. He grabbed his phone, toothbrush, and toothpaste, then headed towards the bathroom to get ready for bed. All of his friends, including Marco, were probably wondering why he'd stopped talking to them for a solid two days without saying why.

He was also very curious to see what kinds of things everyone else had gotten for Christmas. Jean rarely ever got fun or exciting presents, but it seemed like everyone else he knew got a new phone or gaming system every fucking year. Not that Jean was hating on his family for being a bunch of cheap skates, he just wished they'd care more about materialistic desires and less about religion and warm feet. Was it such a crime to want shiny, new, expensive things and not ugly sweaters and prayer journals?

While he was lazily brushing his teeth, Jean checked Facebook to see what kind of fun things everyone else had been doing while he was suffering. People complaining about not getting the phone they wanted, Armin, Mikasa, and Eren all sharing a ridiculously long scarf that Eren had apparently knit, Sasha's family went on a hunting trip annnd she shot a deer in the eye. Nice. "Fuckin' goodbye Bambi." Jean mumbled as he quickly scrolled past the image of the dead animal.

But then Jean froze, nearly choking on his own toothbrush as he saw an image that Marco had posted on Christmas.

> This is as white as Christmas will get down here haha 

Jean's mouth was half open, toothpaste and saliva beginning to drip out of it. Marco was shirtless, sitting on the edge of what looked like a pool, wearing sunglasses and sucking on a white popsicle. Jean practically studied the picture, taking in every single pixel of it and memorizing it. He let out a small whine when he saw the bottom of the picture and realized Marco must have been wearing swim shorts.

Immediately, Jean tapped Marco's name so that he could see every post Marco had made recently. He wiped the mess off his face and spit what was left in his mouth into the sink, before looking back at his phone to see what else Marco had been doing shirtless.

> obvious, uneven tan line already :/ 

Jean gasped at the image. It was simple; Marco had taken a picture of his legs and feet, clearly to show how he had a tan line from wearing sandals. But there was more to it, because Marco had pulled up one of the sides of his shorts to show the tan line on his thighs. His _thighs_. It was in that moment that Jean realized how weak of a man he was.

He closed his eyes and brought his wrist up to his mouth, biting it and gently kicking his leg against the sink counter. How could Jean resist all of the dirty thoughts he had about Marco when Marco had to go and showcase his sweaty, toned, and now tanned body? Marco was just so fucking _gorgeous_. And those legs, those thighs, oh god Marco's _thighs_ , why did they make Jean so weak?

Pulling his wrist away from him to scroll through Marco's page again, Jean began letting all of his repressed sexual tension loose in his mind. He clenched his legs together, hoping to keep himself from getting too hard and aroused. Maybe porn could turn him on, sure, sometimes. But Jean didn't even need to fantasize about Marco's nude body to get as turned on as he was right now, all he needed was for Marco to look cute and show enough of his legs or chest to give Jean something to drool over.

> Christmas morning, tired 

It was one of those rare photos that Marco took when he had just gotten up and was still sleepy. He never really took pictures like that, something about looking like a mess and how he never looked good. Maybe the holiday spirit had gotten him to change his mind, just once, but who the hell cares why? Marco looked adorable with his usually perfectly combed hair ruined, frizzy and all over the place. His eyes not completely wide yet, his lips in a little frown instead of the usual smile that was on his face.

And he was shirtless again in the photo, probably because it was too hot down there to wear shirts to bed. Jean bit his lip, hard at first, but then more gently as he lost the argument in his head about whether or not he should let himself get aroused tonight. Jean turned his attention to photos that Marco had been tagged in, rather than the oh so photogenic ones Marco had taken of himself.

> Fucking loser doesn't think he needs sunscreen just because his skin never burns. Not this year 

It was a picture Ymir had taken and posted, featuring a very grumpy looking Marco in shorts and no shirt, with... sunscreen squirted all over his chest. " _Jesus Christ holy fuck_...." Jean gasped as he nearly slammed his phone down on the counter. Jean took a moment to breathe before looking up to see his reflection in the mirror, and only one thought came to mind; Where was the Vaseline?

He put his phone in his pocket and started going through the cabinets and shelves in the bathroom as quickly as possible. Almost everyone had at least one tub of Vaseline, so where was it? Where the fuck was it in here? He needed it badly. No, he needed _Marco_ badly, but he couldn't have that. At least not yet.

Jean was getting anxious as he imagined what it would be like to massage sunscreen into Marco's back, all over his chest and then... then to his legs. He groaned at the thought, but resisted the reflex of pinching himself to calm down. He didn't want to calm down, he wanted to masturbate and get all of the disgusting, sexual thoughts out of his system so that he could go the rest of his vacation without any frustration.

His eyes practically lit up as he spotted the tub of Vaseline in the closet, and he snatched it away immediately. He was so ready, he was so _fucking ready_ to shove something up his ass it wasn't even funny. Jean hadn't felt like this in a while, and each passing moment meant another regret or shameful thought disappearing into the back of his mind as he got more aroused. Jean glanced at his toothbrush that he'd left on the counter, but he huffed in disappointment.

That puny thing was too thin, especially compared to his last toothbrush. Why would he _downsize_ in his hour of need? He wasn't going to settle for an okay orgasm, no, he wanted to be _spoiled_ by his imagination and whichever unlucky little household item had the grace of giving Jean's ass another thing to regret in life.

It had to be something thick, but something he could grip very easily so that he wouldn't lose it up his ass like his vibrating toothbrush, and it had to be nice and smooth. Carrots were out of the running, for sure. Jean glanced around the room, at the shelves, open cabinets, into the closet, and then, the walls. He sucked in the right side of his cheek, chewing it as he tilted his head to the side a bit.

There was a plethora of crosses hanging on the wall, of all varying sizes, widths, and textures.... It was like a candy shop of potential fun, he just needed to find the right one. Jean walked over to the wall of crosses and started to touch each one of them, stroking the longer halves to see which were made of real wood, and which were just some form of cheap plastic. Some were a kind of ceramic or metal, but Jean wasn't interested in them. Too sharp, too cold.

Eventually his hands brushed over a wooden one that was more rounded, and had some pretty swirly carvings and trim. Jean rubbed his knees together, and he tried not to smile too much. This was going to be so bad. But how could Jean say _no_!? He looked at the picture of Marco sucking a popsicle again, and he pushed the last bit of shame out of his mind.

The time for feeling affection for Marco, for wishing he could hug him and snuggle, fantasizing about them sharing romantic kisses and caring words with each other, definitely wasn't now. Tonight Jean didn't need to think about romance, he just wanted to think about sex. Marco was so cute but he was so, so damn hot. Jean just wanted to lay all over Marco and.... Jean shook his head to get the thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to over excite himself before he even got to the bedroom.

Jean went over to the sink and rinsed his toothbrush before taking the time to slowly wash the cross' every little crack and crevice. He didn't want to rush things tonight, he didn't want things to be fast at all. There was already a perfectly good fantasy in Jean's mind, and it involved slow, careful, warm and soft things. Things he couldn't have, sure, but that's why it's called a fantasy, isn't it?

Maybe this would be the worst sin he could commit and he'd feel a shame like nothing else in the morning, but Jean didn't care. He was too damn stressed and all riled up because he just had to have the strongest thirst for Marco's body. As much as Jean knew his fantasy wasn't going to be a fast, hard, violent fit of frustration like the last couple of times he'd gotten desperately horny, he knew there would still be pain and regret afterwards.

Jean turned off the sink when he was done, grabbed his things, and went straight back to his room. As soon as he got there, he put his toothpaste and toothbrush away and pulled out one of the blankets he'd packed. It would be nice to have something a little softer and more like home to help ease him into things. Then, he turned the T.V.'s volume up so that as many of his noises would be drowned out by the sound of house hunting.

Unintentionally slow, Jean took off his clothes, shivering as the air sucked some of the warmth from his skin. He sat down on the bed, leaning down to pick up his clothes and bury them under some blankets at the corner of the bed, making sure to take his phone from his pocket again. At least one more time, Jean needed to see Marco in that first picture. It made his heart pound and his mouth water, just imagining what it would be like if Marco could put those lips to work somewhere, _anywhere_ on Jean's body.

Once he was done gazing at the picture, he set his phone down on the floor for easy access if it was needed later. He'd normally keep his shirt on for a multitude of reasons, but his fantasy required complete nudity. Jean opened the tub of Vaseline and looked at his own legs, disappointed that he'd let so much of his leg hair grow back. Jean's body image problems stopped at his face, but sometimes his little imperfections would get to him. Especially the ones he knew he could fix.

But there was no room in his fantasy for self consciousness and doubt, so he scooped a bunch of Vaseline into his hands and then started to rub it all over his legs. Yeah, his legs. Not that he was going to try shoving his own leg up his ass, that would just be... terrifying. No, Jean was just doing something a little different for once. He wanted to feel as if he were having warm, sweaty sex, and it took sooo long to actually get sweaty enough that his legs would be wet with it, so, Vaseline was the solution.

Not to mention, the way it felt when his legs struggled to move around under the covers because they were so greasy felt pretty damn nice. Once he'd gotten his legs and thighs good and covered, he started to rub them together. Jean suppressed a few giggles at the tickling feeling of his leg hair sticking to his skin as he slid his legs against each other. The only light in the room was coming from the T.V., and Jean tried not to frown as he noticed how his leg hair was blocking the perfect image of his legs.

Jean didn't have super lean legs like Marco, but they were thin enough, and he liked to shave because he loved how smooth and pretty his legs looked without the tiny black demons to get in the way. But he closed his eyes and inhaled, shaking all the self depreciating thoughts from his mind. If Marco were having sex with him, he'd never let Jean talk about his own body like this. Jean started to slowly stroke his legs with his own hands, and imagined Marco was the one doing it.

The Vaseline was getting all over Jean's arms, and maybe he was a little too focused on touching his legs, but this was all part of the fantasy. As much as Jean loved the idea of Marco being forceful, tonight Jean wanted to think that Marco wasn't like that at all. What would Marco do to him right now? Jean shivered as he sank into the bed, obviously unable to answer that question for sure. But he knew what he _wanted_ Marco to do with him.

Jean wanted Marco to make him feel good all over, to love every single inch of Jean's body, even his hideous face. He didn't want the affectionate, sweet, fluffy loving, but he didn't want aggressive, rough sex either. It was a good in between to fantasize about, and Jean was so fucking glad he could make it convincing to himself for once.

It was too cold to keep himself out in the open forever, so Jean started to pull the blanket he'd brought from home over him. Jean never realized how much his blankets must smell like sweat until now, where the smell of the fabric softener was mixing with his blanket. But Jean ignored the uncomfortable clashing scents, rolling on his left side before sticking his hand into the Vaseline again.

He picked up the wooden cross and started to cover it in Vaseline, and with what was left, he rubbed in and around his ass, taking his sweet time with it. Would Marco like slow sex? The basic vanilla shit that's in every romance movie? Yeah he probably would, right? It didn't matter, in this fantasy, Marco liked whatever Jean wanted.

Jean set the tub of Vaseline down on the floor, lightly pushing it and the cover under the bed just in case. He looked over the cross, trying to determine how long the bottom half was. But he gripped the top half and pushed it under the covers, then slid it into him slowly anyway, only just barely keeping a soft whine from escaping him as he did so. He wanted to rub his legs together and touch himself all over, but he didn't have the room for that, or enough hands.

It didn't feel amazing or exciting like when he'd used his bumpy razor or vibrating toothbrush, but that was fine. It wasn't supposed to feel like a real dick, he just wanted something inside him that was thick enough to keep him from going too fast with this fantasy. He kept his eyes shut as he slowly pushed and pulled the cross in him, scratching at his stomach gently with his left hand. He had to resist the temptation of going straight for his dick, which had been hard and begging for attention ever since Jean first saw Marco sucking on that popsicle.

But Marco wouldn't have been so eager, he would have waited before touching Jean there. Marco would have taken much more time and care of the rest of Jean's body, and so that's what Jean started to work on. He brought his hand up towards his nipples, and he whimpered at the thought of Marco licking and biting them gently. He couldn't recreate that kind of thing with his fingers even though they were slick with Vaseline, but his fantasizing was still affecting him.

He thought about Marco giving him long, drawn out kisses and hickeys along his neck, and Jean groaned from the lack of real stimulation. If only he had more hands, or if Marco was there to do all the work for him. Jean slid his hand back down his chest and towards the slope between his waist and hips, sighing in satisfaction as he pressed and rubbed against the thickest part. What was it, muscle, fat? Jean didn't know, he could never remember things like that. But it was soft and firm at the same time and he liked the way he could feel the pressure it was putting on his bone. 

It was starting to get hot underneath the blanket, and Jean was almost shocked at how easily he was resisting the urge to speed things up and get things over with. Yeah, he wanted an orgasm, but he liked all of this fake foreplay and attention he was getting.

Jean moved his hand, softly caressing his own hips and making himself gasp as he slid it down further to squeeze his own ass cheek. He blushed and tried not to think about what he was doing, and he wondered if maybe, judging by how squishy some parts of him were, if he should cut back on the fat? Nah, no that was dumb, no, Marco would love him just like this. Why should he lose weight just because Marco likes to be fit?

So, pushing the self conscious thought from his mind, he lifted his hand up a little and started to stroke his fingers along his thigh. It was so _smooth_ and soft from the Vaseline, Jean absolutely loved it. He switched from gentle stroking to light squeezing, and Jean wished he had some lips to kiss or his wrist to bite into. It just felt so, so, how could Jean even think of something to compare it to? He'd never done this before and made it feel so _real_.

His toes were curling and slipping on the sheets from sweating, and Jean wished his arm was thinner so that he could close the gap between his legs and let them touch. He kept sliding the cross in and out of him slowly, having trouble keeping his breaths even as he felt the occasional carving press and drag against his insides. His right wrist pressing up against his dick, constantly moving side to side as he moved the cross in him, which was only making things worse. But really, was it such a bad thing if he was feeling this good just a little too fast?

"God fucking, _damn it... Marco...._ " Jean whined, again refusing to rush things. He pulled and lightly scratched at his thigh, and he could feel himself writhe under the covers, the top half of his body left to struggle unattended to. But the more he played with, caressed, and gripped at his thigh and ass, the more Jean loved his fantasy. Marco would love doing this to him wouldn't he? He'd give him attention everywhere, he wouldn't stop at one thigh, he'd make sure Jean didn't get the _chance_ to complain about not getting enough attention.

He just loved Marco _so much_ , why couldn't this be a reality? Couldn't Marco just, love him like this? Holding him and caressing him all over so gently, giving Jean hickeys and whispering how pretty he thought Jean was? Jean didn't know how many inches the cross was in length, but he'd decided that 3 inches was as long as he needed Marco to be. Any less, and well, Marco would just have to work a little harder. But that was fine.

Jean didn't need a 12 inch long, soda can wide dick in him, and the roughest sex imaginable that had his prostate getting slammed into every thrust. Just Marco would be alright, Marco loving him and spoiling him and making Jean feel like he was worth every filthy second of whatever the hell this was.

He had gotten into the rhythm of stroking his thigh and playing with the cross inside him, his legs struggling to reach each other and his hips shifting around under the warm blanket, muttering and panting Marco's name like the pathetic slut he wished he could be. It was warm and messy, his right arm half covered in Vaseline as his legs rubbed back and forth against it. 

But then, Jean realized his tightened stomach twitch on the inside, and his hot and bothered abdomen now felt at ease-- Almost numb. He stopped, his eyes wide open now and staring at his body. He lifted the blanket up with his left hand to get some light and huffed, glaring down at himself. He already came. What the _fuck_ was this supposed to be, exactly? This wasn't what he wanted! He didn't want to orgasm off of some fantasizing and shoving wood up his ass alone! He wasn't _done_!

Frustrated, Jean wiped his hand off as best he could, and reached down to the floor to grab his phone. He looked through Marco's photos again, and let himself relax back into a state of disgusting thirst and horny-ness for his best friend. Jean wished he could just tell Marco everything as easily as he could fantasize about Marco fucking him. And the more Jean stared at his phone, tired and fueled with lust, he wondered... should he just tell him now?

Jean just wanted to tell him everything then. How much he loved him, romantically. How he couldn't wait to get back home so that they could have another sleep over. How horny he was and how he would give anything for Marco to touch him in the softest ways while they were both naked. How Jean didn't even think he needed sex, just, touching each other like this would be fine.... He could just text Marco right now, right?

He bit his lip and set his phone back on the floor, "Don't do it, don't be an asshole.... That's such a shitty, gross, creepy thing to do, don't do that, stop thinking about that...." He muttered, closing his eyes to try and get back to his fantasy. He couldn't just, start off a relationship by telling Marco how badly he wanted to rut against him like an animal in heat. That had to be the worst way to go. 

But it just, wouldn't _click_. He couldn't pull himself back into that nearly perfect mindset where Marco just loved him so much and treated Jean like he was fucking royalty. He whined, leaning into his pillow and wishing he didn't need to try so hard to fantasize about things. He hated having to do all the work....

Jean's cynical side told him that no matter what he did, it would never matter. Marco just didn't feel that way about him, there was no way Marco would want to do all of these disgusting things to him and somehow be able to hide it. Marco was so uncomfortable about the subject of sex, it couldn't be possible for him to want to spoil Jean in the bedroom. But Jean could still hope and pretend, couldn't he?

He pulled the cross out of him and curled up under the blanket, trying to take deep breaths and relax a little. He couldn't be a pessimist, no he had to believe that Marco could want him. And why wouldn't Marco want him? Jean was attractive, _he was_ , and Marco was the kind of person who could see that. 

Jean started to slowly touch himself all over, rubbing his legs and thighs together slowly. He wanted Marco to wrap his arms around him and give him kisses, he wanted Marco to caress his face and run his hand down Jean's neck and then, then what? What did Jean want? He wanted everything, he was so greedy. And Marco would give him everything if that's what Jean wanted, right? Exactly.

He grabbed the cross again with his left hand, and slowly put it right back where it belonged inside him, his legs being forced to stop moving. Jean breathed out a drawn out moan into the sheets, enjoying every second of it. He told himself that he deserved everything, and brought his right hand to the base of his dick. This was good, he was horny all over again, ready to avoid disappointment this time around. 

It was a strange feeling, how slowly the lower half of him moved. The Vaseline made his lower right side slip back and forth along the sheets and blankets, which were now bunched in one place and completely thin and wrinkled in another. It wasn't the most evenly spread out way to lay on a bed, but it felt good. Jean was a little faster with rubbing and stroking his dick, letting his slicked up fingers slide across the head every so often. 

He was such a mess, but he liked it. The slow thrusting of the cross inside him was so strange and good paired with how he was massaging the tip of his dick now. He whined into the sheets some more, his voice more high pitched and uncontrolled as he felt himself getting close again. If Marco were here, he'd be doing all of this _for_ Jean, and Jean could focus more on scratching at the sheets and begging Marco for more-- Because Jean really did think he deserved everything.

The smell of sweat and fabric softener was practically assaulting Jean as he started to breathe more heavily, letting more air into his lungs than he normally would have. This felt really, really good. He knew his whines were getting very loud, and so were his uncontrollable whimpers as his legs twitched and his hips bucked from the need for more. It was hot and messy, and he could barely keep his fingers from rubbing and twisting the tip of his dick too hard. It was so _good_ and Jean could feel the clenching and twisting in his gut getting more intense as he felt the pressure of the cross' carvings slide and pull in him.

It was unexpected when he finally came again, his left hand immediately letting go of the cross, his right hand still clumsily playing with his dick as they got smothered in cum. Jean was panting and heaving into the sheets, and he felt like shaking. He wanted more, he _needed_ more, he fucking deserved it! And as amazing as this was, as close as he had gotten to perfection, it wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't be good enough for Jean until Marco was the one there to do it all for him, and _then some_.

But Jean slowly started to calm down, letting himself breathe better and finally letting his right hand drop to the sheets. He sighed, whining a bit in annoyance that the fun was over, and pulled the cross out from him once more. He felt kind of empty, but he was satisfied with this orgasm unlike the last one. 

What a waste the first time was. Now Jean was exhausted and all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep, so that he could wake up the next day in shame and pretend the night never happened. When he'd relaxed enough to emerge from the blanket, he picked up the cross and then lowered it to the floor, throwing it under the bed. He'd have to bury it, or throw it in a gutter or something tomorrow. He stole the cross from the bathroom, anyone could be blamed for it going missing. Jean wiped his hands off as best he could on the sheets, and rolled over onto his side to get some sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Jean was, surprisingly, ready to get up. He'd heard a knock at the door and someone mention something about going to church, and Jean groaned into his pillow. Church the day after he'd done what he did last night? That was too cruel. How could he walk into church with his whole family knowing that last night, he'd just shoved a decorative holy cross straight up his asshole? And that fantasy, dear lord, that was something else.

Still, Jean let out a yawn and stretched before rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. Fine, he'd go to church, but first he needed to shower and rinse away as much filth as possible. He knew he'd be scolded for showering in the morning when they had places to be, but this was too important to ignore in the name of inconspicuousness. Sitting up, he started to feel around under the blankets to find his clothes from yesterday. They were already dirty, so he could put them on just for the walk to the bathroom.

Feeling he wouldn't have the time to spare for brushing his teeth, Jean left the room carrying nothing other than some clean clothes to change into. Part of him wondered if his religious family members could just, smell the filth and sin all over him. It wouldn't surprise him, since it seemed like every time he masturbated with something he _definitely should not_ have been using to masturbate with, God rained down some good old fashioned shame and pain to ruin Jean's day.

But when Jean entered the bathroom, making sure to avoid looking at the wall, he didn't feel as bad as he thought he would. There was definitely tons of shame lingering in his mind, but honestly? He felt _nice_ , physically speaking that is. The Vaseline had made his legs so fucking soft even after it had all been wiped away by the blankets and sheets. His ass hurt a little but, nothing could be compared to the pain of his vibrating toothbrush being stuck in his ass.

Maybe it was just because he'd finally let go of a bunch of sexual tension and repressed emotions last night? Jean couldn't even remember if his orgasm was that good or not, he'd been too focused on his thirsty fantasy when it happened. And god, that _fantasy_ , Jean wanted to pat himself on the back for just experiencing it. Jean knew he'd probably just screech and hide under the covers if Marco actually offered to do those kind of things to him, but it was amazing.

Should he have been proud he'd fantasized about Marco touching him like that? Not at all, no, it was gross and he'd definitely think about how wrong it was at church. But he wasn't at church right now, he was getting in the shower and contemplating whether or not he should take a cold one to calm down, or if he should treat himself even more and use up all the hot water.

The shame won this battle, and Jean braced himself for the cold water. He didn't see how anyone would want to torture themselves with ice water on a daily basis. This was like, a punishment for his blasphemous use of a cross as a dildo, it wasn't something Jean would ever be able to do regularly.

If Jean wasn't awake before, he definitely was now. Reluctantly, Jean leaned against the shower wall and let the water run down his back. He knew what he had to do, he just didn't want to do it. The Vaseline that had been left in his ass from last night felt weird, and he needed to wash it away. Jean didn't like having to basically finger himself in a freezing cold shower, but it was this or feeling greasy and disgusting for the rest of the day.

Jean's logic was that, the harder it was to shove his fingers inside him, the more progress he was making in getting the Vaseline out of his ass and down the drain. He winced at the pain as he was sure he was finally done, and he felt a little envious that Marco had actual lube meant for going up the ass just sitting in a shoe box and ready any time. Maybe in a year or two, Jean could feel comfortable going to the store to buy some for himself.

He scrubbed the remaining Vaseline from his fingers with soap and then turned the water off, and he was happy to finally be free from the cold. Jean stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel from the closet, rubbing the towel all over him as quickly as possible. But as he got to his legs, he stopped. Did he want to risk sucking away all of the moisture from them? It _was_ winter after all. He ran one of his hands down his leg, but quickly pulled it away.

If he did that too much he was just going to start fantasizing again. Which reminded him, he never plugged his phone back into his charger before he went to bed last night. Jean began drying off his legs, and wondered what Marco was doing, or if he was even awake yet. It made him think back to the picture Marco had posted, where he was a tired mess on Christmas morning.

Jean pinched himself, and promised he wouldn't look at any pictures of Marco until he'd told him how he felt. Then after being rejected, he could have himself a little pity party full of tears and half assed masturbation that didn't really satisfy him while looking at photos of Marco on his laptop. That was how Jean pictured the worst case scenario, anyway. In reality, Jean probably wouldn't have the energy to touch himself if Marco rejected him. He'd probably just cry himself to sleep. Jean wasn't sure which one was more pathetic....

Whatever, thinking about it now wasn't going to help with anything. Jean changed into his clean clothes which were the "fanciest" clothes he owned. He knew he'd have to go to church during vacation, and his Nana preferred it if everyone wore nice clothes to church during the holidays. Jean did have a pair of nice dress pants, but he'd grown out of them. Now his "fancy" clothes consisted of black pants that weren't denim and a dorky button up.

Jean thought he looked like a stupid clown, but it wasn't like he was there to impress anyone. Even the really cute kids his age he'd see at church sometimes were either abstinent, already in relationships, or to Jean's _obvious_ horror; His distant cousins. It didn't matter if someone was your 1st cousin or your 8th cousin, you can't find them attractive, you just _can't_. It was gross! It was more disgusting than anything Jean had done in the past 6 months with his fantasizing.

Maybe that was why religion never really clicked with Jean. The whole "everyone is God's child" thing just screamed creepy incest in his mind, and that's not appealing at all. And yes, Jean did research his family tree a couple of years back to make sure that Marco was not anywhere in it. He heard of the concept that everyone was related somehow, just very very distant, but Jean didn't like to accept that little theory either. Maybe... that's why he wasn't too hot for science, either.

He hurried back to his room so that he could plug his phone in, ignoring the sounds of everyone rushing each other to finish getting ready. Jean was lucky there were plenty of women in the house who took too damn long to apply makeup, otherwise he wouldn't have the time to put on his own. Even though he wasn't trying to look good for anyone, Jean still didn't like going out in public with his acne on display for all to see. Sure, there wasn't as much on his face in winter, but it was still there and it was hideous.

Jean was very careful not to get any foundation on his pants or his stupid white shirt, knowing his family would only tease him for somehow managing to make a mess of himself before breakfast. His application technique was very precise too, just smearing it all over his face until the redness went away. Perfect. After he was done, he wiped his hands off on his blanket, making sure to avoid all of the... mess, that was already on them. He'd throw it all in the washer later, as soon as he got back from church. No one would know a thing.

After checking under the bed to make sure the other evidence of his late night sinning was still there and hidden, Jean breathed out a sigh of relief. It wasn't like he thought someone was going to pick through the room for any reason, but nothing bad had happened to him yet, so it was only a matter of time before he was put into some kind of awkward or painful situation.

.

Church was bad enough the month before, but it was even worse the Sunday after Christmas when apparently _everyone_ decided to go. Jean couldn't even pretend to smile for a few minutes before getting overwhelmed with boredom. He awkwardly shook the hand of every old person who'd greet him and asked if he remembered them from last year, and the year before that and so on. Jean's memory was fucking shit but he said he remembered anyway.

There were a lot of things Jean didn't enjoy, like, a ridiculous amount of things. But gospel music? That was definitely high up there. He hated it so much and he wanted to take a nap it was so ear grating. Luckily, his Nana didn't care if he payed attention or if he joined in the terrible singing, as long as he didn't sleep or cause any trouble, he was in the clear.

Which made Jean wonder why in the world his family dragged him to church every damn Christmas season anyway, but he stopped asking that years ago. Too many long lectures. Jean had just settled on the idea that his family was just trying to convert him slowly so that maybe a decade in the future he could drag whatever family he had to church. Gross. Jean didn't know if he was ever actually going to have a family, what with his disgusting face and terrible attitude, but he couldn't imagine ever dragging them to church.

It was a good thing Marco's family wasn't religious, otherwise Jean probably wouldn't have even made _friends_ with Marco. When Jean was younger he did anything to get away from church, pretending he was sick, locking himself in the bathroom, making a mess in the kitchen so that his mother would have to put off going to church just so she could clean it up.

Today though, was one of those rare, maybe once in a lifetime experiences for Jean, since he actually had something he was planning to do at church. He decided that it had just been too long having to carry all of the weight of sin on his shoulders, and that maybe he should do that really intimidating confessional thing that, form what he's heard, is more entertaining in the movies.

He didn't understand the whole confidentiality thing that came with it, but it at least humored him to think that some poor old Catholic guy was going to have to sit there and listen to some non Catholic teenager's ramblings about sinning. He knew there was like, some proper, specific way to do confessionals, but he wasn't interested in doing things right. How difficult could it be, anyway? Sit in a box, talk about your sins, hop out of the box, and you're home free!

As Jean sat in "the box" though, he felt a little uncomfortable. He was about to tell some complete stranger that he'd masturbated with a holy cross and then ask for forgiveness for it. But whatever, Jean was here now, he had to just go for it. "Uhh, okay what is it they say in the movies when they do this? Oh right, okay, forgive me Father for I have sinned. A lot. This is going to take a bit so um, don't interrupt me or anything because I don't want to go into too much detail. You're probably really old and you don't wanna know _everything_ everything about my sins, right? Please don't answer that."

"Okay so, I've never done confessionals before. Unless my Nana took me to do one when I was little and I just don't remember. But, alright, first sin. I already prayed for forgiveness for one thing so, I'll just skip to the next sinning thing, yeah. So uh, around the time school started, I used my razor as a dildo, and I imagined my best friend was-- What's the word older adults use? Fornicating? Yeah, I imagined he was 'fornicating' with me while I did that. Don't say anything yet, I'm still not done."

Although it wasn't as bad as the whole, banana thing, remembering the pain he'd felt the day after he used his old toothbrush to get off made Jean hesitate for a moment. "Uhhhh.... I got ridiculously drunk last month, and then, the next day I was really upset that I couldn't remember anything so I used my vibrating toothbrush as like, a _vibrating_ dildo. It was really painful to move around the next day though so I think that counts as being punished by God? That's a rhetorical question I don't really need to know that."

Was he doing this right? Probably... not? But he was confessing his sins so, he must be getting bonus points for trying to make things right. Otherwise, Jean thought he was just ruining this poor guy's day. "Now, this is probably one you've heard before alright? Last night, I took one of my Nana's holy crosses that she hangs on the walls? Yeah I used it as a dildo. That's gotta be a huge sin but, since it's a holy cross does it like cancel itself out? Or is that like, double the sin?" Jean was actually curious about that, but he still didn't want to hear the answer.

"Anyway I also looked at a bunch of pictures of my friend and imagined he was doing stuff with me. Oh! Uh yeah, my friend? He's a guy, so, yeah. I don't know if your church is one of those homophobic kinds or not, I don't come here often enough. But if it's a sin in your book, uh, there you go. I think that's it for my sinning? Wait don't talk, let me think some more." Had Jean done anything else that could be considered a sin? Probably, but was there anything massive?

"Mmmm, yeah I think that's it? Wait wait don't, don't say anything okay like, I think this is enough. I don't need any advice or forgiveness, I guess I just needed to scream into a faceless void? Well sort of faceless void since there's a screen here but, I'm good! This was good, it's uh, nice to have someone listen so, I'm just gonna go pray to God for forgiveness later instead and read the bible for an hour or something."

Jean practically slammed open the door as he finished talking so that he wouldn't have to hear some kind of religious lecture, hurrying away as fast as his sinning legs could take him. That counted as a successful confessional right? No? Sure? Whatever. It's just, whatever. Maybe it was a half assed confession that didn't count in God's eyes but eh, what's wrong with that? It wasn't like he was gonna get a phone call to tell him he needed to come back and do a re-do.

What Jean thought he really needed to do, was get his laptop back so he could have a proper skype call with Marco and tell him about his feelings. That was way more important than confessing his " _sins_ ", right? Jean could do that right with no problem this year, even if he did fuck it up each and every year before that. Yeah, if Jean could confess his sins to some priest, then he could tell Marco how he felt just as easily.

* * *

Jean's over confidence only went so far, even in the winter when his face looked its best and the holiday spirit had him thinking he could do nearly anything. He'd gotten his laptop back Monday morning, but something was keeping him from telling Marco how he felt. On Tuesday morning, Armin had texted Jean, asking if he'd told Marco yet. Jean ignored the text entirely, because he didn't want a reminder of how little time he had left before the end of the year. On Wednesday afternoon, he and his mother had packed and drove back home.

Now it was Thursday, New Year's Eve, and Jean didn't know what to do. Why was it so hard for him to just send a text, or skype Marco and say it? He'd been talking to Marco on and off ever since Sunday, talking about how they'd spent their time and passing jokes back and forth like normal. They even spoke on the phone a couple of times, and Jean just couldn't say a word about how he was feeling.

What was he so _scared_ for? Jean could feel the butterflies in his stomach, and now that he was home he could smile freely when he was messaging Marco. He felt so at ease, but somehow, he'd feel sick every time he thought about confessing his love to Marco. Jean tried to convince himself that he was over reacting, that he was just getting nervous over nothing, because Marco was too caring and forgiving to hate Jean if things didn't go well.

It just didn't make sense to Jean. He'd dreamed and fantasized about the day he'd tell Marco how much he loved him for so long, and the chance that Marco might feel the same way, and that they could hold hands, kiss, and maybe actually have sex, should have been enough motivation for him now more than ever.

Maybe it was a mistake to not try saying anything before vacation? It wasn't like Jean was a sobbing, hyperventilating mess pacing around his room, but he still felt just, off about things. What would he say to Marco? How would he say it? Should he make himself look good for the skype call? Just then, he got a text.

> "excited for tonight?" 

It was from Marco, and Jean bit his lip to keep himself from blushing too much. Marco was referring to the skype call that they had every year on New Year's Eve, them and whichever of their friends could spare the time since they were all a bunch of losers who didn't go to parties or go drinking. They'd talk about whatever, just like normal, and then they'd sip their stupid mocktails and sparkling fruit juices to the New Year as the ball dropped on the T.V. together. Losers, all of them, including Marco.

Jean looked forward to it every year, because it always made him feel like the next year was actually something to be excited for instead of treating it like just another day that led into another month and so on. Hopefully by this time next year, Jean would have someone to kiss at midnight. Maybe if he'd just fucking tell Marco how he felt now, then he could have someone to kiss this year, but even then there was no guarantee that Marco would reciprocate his feelings and want to immediately start dating Jean.

He sent Marco a response saying how he felt like he'd been waiting months just for tonight, and then Jean put his phone down. Was that too obvious? Would it tip Marco off that something more was going on? That Jean was referring to something other than their traditional little skype party? Jean got another text, but only stared at his phone with nervousness for a second before picking it up excitedly.

> "you didn't tell him yet did you? just in case you forgot the last day of the year is today" 

Jean chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, glaring down at the text from Armin. What a sassy bastard. So what if he hadn't told Marco yet? There were enough hours left in the day to get around to it! Like the last time Armin had sent him a nosy text about the subject, Jean ignored it. He wasn't going to let it get to him either, he'd build up the mental energy it would take to tell Marco before the next year and he'd shove it straight in Armin's stupid little baby face.

So, it was decided. Jean would tell Marco during their skype call later before it was even time to count down to the next year. It was risky and bound to be embarrassing, but what better way for someone like Jean to confess his love for someone? He tried the cutesy cheesy anonymous love letter route, but Marco didn't seem to react much at all even though he kept it safe and hidden in his room.

But now some of Jean's butterflies and stomach troubles seemed to diminish, and he was a little more excited about telling Marco. It was only 4 in the afternoon though, he'd have to kill a lot of time before the skype call even _started_ , and then he'd have to figure out when during the call would be the best time to spill the beans.

Jean got up from his bed and grabbed his laptop, eager to prepare for the night. He'd just take it downstairs and maybe go shower so his hair would look nicer, then he could stare in the mirror for a while and tell himself how ugly he wasn't to avoid chickening out _again_. It would be fucking great, it's be amazing, really.

As good as he was at creating horrible situations in his mind, Jean tried to think of better things. Things like, how positive Marco seemed to be most of the time, and how his smile could make Jean fell at least a little better no matter what was going on. Marco might've loved Jean and this would be a really great story to tell some time in the future, if they started dating.

He blushed at the thought of being able to hold Marco's hand whenever he wanted, and for it to actually mean something. Yeah Jean could be shameless and disgusting, fantasizing about sex all the time, but Marco wouldn't have to know about all of that until later. Or never, might be good. Jean wasn't sure how he'd explain the worst of his fantasizing, especially to someone as innocent as Marco.

* * *

This year, their skype party was a little smaller than usual, but Jean secretly loved that, since he wouldn't have as big of an audience to witness him making a complete fool of himself. Besides himself and Marco, Armin had joined the video call. Occasionally Eren or Mikasa would intervene from somewhere in Armin's room that was unseen, but luckily they didn't make much direct conversation.

Jean had set himself up in the living room, his laptop sitting on the coffee table and a nice platter of junk food next to it. The house was quiet aside from the T.V. and the Christmas radio station playing from the kitchen, because Jean did love his Christmas music, regardless of the fact that Christmas was nearly a week ago. At some point, Marco had dropped out of the call because he apparently was driving with his family somewhere to watch some fireworks go off. But he promised he'd come back and use his phone to rejoin the call.

There would have been a lot less butterflies floating around in Jean's stomach if Armin hadn't been giving weird looks at random points during the call. He was sure Marco didn't know what the looks meant, but Jean was certain that Armin was trying to suggest that Jean confess his love already.

"Look, Armin, I know you're trying to help but you're _not helping_ , okay? I'm gonna tell him, let me do it on my own time!" Jean muttered, hoping that neither Mikasa or Eren would hear him and try to get in on the conversation. The last thing he needed was some loudmouth like Eren knowing how he felt about Marco. He'd probably tell Marco on a bet, then refuse to take the money just to see the look on Jean's face.

Armin's eyes widened a little, but then he gave Jean a stern look and set his hands on his desk, "You said, weeks ago, that you'd tell him this year. New Year's is in a little under an hour and Marco doesn't even have a clue that you're--" Armin's eyes darted to the side, probably remembering that his friends were still there. "That you're... interested in certain things."

"Yeah that was about as subtle as the acne all over my face, but thanks. Also, Marco's an hour behind so really, _really_ I have an extra hour, yeah?" Jean retorted, then took a sip of his soda. He'd gone through so much soda during the day in fear that he'd accidentally fall asleep and miss his chance to tell Marco how he felt.

Maybe Armin didn't appreciate Jean's bit of humor, or maybe he was just as eager as Jean was to see a confession unfold. "What if he never rejoins the call, or your internet goes out before midnight?"

Jean scrunched up his face and shrugged, "Pff, when did you make it your job to be all negative and butt into my personal problems all the time? None of that's gonna happen, now cut it out before I start to have second thoughts." He would appreciate some support, not pessimism. Jean would get enough negativity out of himself after he told Marco how he felt and scurried away from the call like the coward he was.

"Okay. Do it whenever you want, just, you're _torturing yourself_ , and it's gone on long enough. If you have to ask me to leave, then do it now. I don't want you to use me being here as an excuse." Armin said it like he was a fucking doctor giving a diagnosis, as if Jean was some unhealthy, lazy pig that needed to exercise more. Which was, kinda accurate, but not the point. Armin didn't even know what love was, so Jean tried not to let the words get under his skin.

Jean checked the time, and then looked at the T.V. to see whatever it was people in New York had been doing as the New Year drew closer. Jean hoped that Marco would come back before the ball dropped, even though it wouldn't be the new year over there yet. "Actually, I want you to be here. When I tell Marco, I want you to be here so that you can pretend to be overly shocked and happy for me. Also, it would be proof that I told him and I wanna rub it in your face."

"What are you two talking about!?" That was Eren, and Jean was silently praying that he'd just back off and go back to knitting or whatever it was Eren was doing. Armin turned to the side and gave a small shrug, "Nothing important. Jean just wants Marco to know how hideous his hairstyle is, and that he needs to change it. It's hard to tell your best friend that they're ugly."

Really? Was that what Armin was going with? Sure, Jean did think that Marco's hair style was silly, and maybe that was part of why Jean liked how Marco looked when he just woke up or got out from under some water, or came back from jogging with his hair all messed up.

"You're right Armin, you're too damn cute for me to call you ugly." When Eren said that, Armin's little nostrils flared, and he looked pretty miffed about it. But he just turned back to his computer, "Anyway... the sooner you tell him that you, think he's ugly, the sooner you can find out if he thinks you're ugly?" Armin worded it that way, probably because Eren would have been nosy enough to listen in on the conversation anyway.

"But everyone already knows that Jean's hideous, I'm not even talking about his hair, look at hi--" Armin shot a glare towards the other side of the room, which shut Eren up pretty quickly. "You're pretty ugly yourself, you know that right? _Right_?" Jean wasn't sure if Armin was joking, or if that was some kind of code for something, or what.

Jean liked to joke around with Marco sometimes and call him ugly, but he never looked very angry when he did it. Maybe that was just how Armin and Eren did things, Jean wouldn't know. They had a weird friendship in Jean's book, he didn't understand why they did some of the things they did together, or what half of what they said was supposed to mean.

Before Jean could think about asking anything, he noticed that Marco had rejoined the group call. The camera quality of his phone wasn't nearly as good as the one on the computer Marco was using before, but Jean could still tell what facial expression Marco was making, so it would do. "It took forever to find parking, sorry! We're at this huge lake, and, _my god_ it's so hot outside for it being night time."

Marco looked like he was sitting at some kind of picnic table, and it was nearly pitch black out, his face looked like it was only being lit up by the light of his cellphone. Armin turned his attention back to his computer screen, the tension almost completely gone from his expression, "Welcome back."

Jean wiped all the crumbs that were over his face and body off, and straightened his posture to look like less of a wreck. He knew that Marco wouldn't care, and that he already knew Jean was a slob, but Jean felt like he had to hold himself to a higher standard tonight for what he was about to do. "Heyyy, Marco, how was uh, the ride?" What a stupid question to ask. He might as well have asked about the weather! But, Marco just talked about the weather, so...?

Marco yawned, and with his free hand he rubbed his eye a little. "Fine, I guess. It wasn't a really long drive, but someone 'stole' my mom's parking spot twice and she was pissed. They're not doing fireworks until over an hour from now, I'm surprised it was so hard to find parking. I guess I'm lucky to have you guys to talk to until then." He smiled, and Jean just wanted to tell him right then and there.

But of course, someone, namely Eren, had to interrupt. "Hey Marco! There's no way I'm staying up until 1 in the morning just to tell you happy new year, so, happy new year in advance!" Eren was leaning on Armin's desk, and he was wearing one of those disgusting pairs of 2016 glasses that didn't use the bubble of the 6 for the left eye glass. It was hideous! It ruined the entire aesthetic of New Years glasses.

Marco laughed a little and rested his head on his hand, "Thanks, but what the hell are you wearing?" Eren backed away and stood up straight so that his entire body could be in full view. "Fashion." At that, Armin sighed, rolling his eyes. Probably because Eren was also wearing one of those over the top Christmas sweaters, and gold pants that shimmered in the light as he moved. What an absolute travesty.

Jean was speechless, unable to verbally react to the hideous mess he was being forced to look at. Marco seemed the same way, no longer leaning on his arm and instead using his hand to cover his mouth. What a sweetheart, not telling Eren how absolutely horrible his outfit was. "By your silence, I can see you've both been driven wild with desire, and I don't want to let you both down but y'see my heart belongs to anoth--"

Armin turned around in his chair and scoffed, "Knock it off Eren! They don't want to look at your shimmery skinnies, please stop." Eren, who was now partially blocked from view, pushed the glasses up onto his forehead. "Damn Armin you really are a genius. Shimmery skinnies, _shimmy skinnies_ , ah? Aaah?" What a fucking moron, but Jean could admit that, yeah, it was a pretty okay name. Marco even snickered a little, probably finding the name cute in a fat pug sort of way.

After a moment or two of silence from everyone, Eren smiled and shook his head so his glasses could fall back onto his face, "Armin, we should buy you a pair of the silver shimmy skinnies, they'd really go with your eyes! And you know what else they'd make look good? Y--" For, what, the third time? Armin interrupted Eren, this time by getting up and physically pushing Eren back to the side of the room he came from. "Lay off the eggnog, Eren, sit down!"

Jean moved his attention to Marco, who looked really amused by the whole situation. Jean wished he could be there with him. Maybe if he'd just, speak up, then next year he could be enjoying the last moments of the year right by Marco's side. "Hey um, Marco...." Jean began, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

"The ball! It's gonna drop in like five minutes! Mikasa where's the eggnog!?" Fucking god shit damned asshole _Eren_! Jean wanted to reach in through the screen and strangle him, even though he was out of sight. Armin sat down at his desk again and gave another one of those looks, this time with a bit more urgency in his eyes. Jean wanted to assault him, too, he wanted to scream that he knew! He knew it was getting late, he knew the year was almost over! He could read!

But five minutes were still five minutes! It didn't take more than a few seconds to say you loved someone, and Jean was going to say he loved Marco, to Marco's face, with Marco's full and undivided attention damn it! "Jean, go get some cider or something!" Marco suggested excitedly, his hand tapping excitedly on the table he was at. Jean bit his lip nervously, but sprung up from the couch anyway before darting into the kitchen.

His mother had left Jean alone tonight, because apparently her book club was having a special meeting. Something about a lady named Nancy, and how she bought "the good stuff". So, Jean had to sift through the fridge looking for the sparkling apple cider without any direction. "Hurry up!" He heard Armin shout, and Jean rolled his eyes and huffed. It wasn't like he was going to take his sweet old time now was he?

Jean finally found the bottle of cider, and nearly dropped it as he pulled it from the back of the fridge. Then he grabbed a clear plastic cup and ran back over to his laptop. He practically slammed the cup and cider down on the coffee table, then frantically poured himself a cup. "Okay, okay, so," Jean started again, flustered and having trouble putting his thoughts together. But Marco wasn't _there_!

"Where the hell did Marco go!?" Jean hadn't meant to scream, but he did. Armin motioned with his hands for Jean to calm down, "Relax, he went to get some water so that he could toast with us!" What? Water from where, the fucking lake? Was he just going to run around asking people if they had a sink on hand? That could take forever!

But just as Jean was about to have a meltdown, Marco came back, picking up his phone again so that his camera was facing him and not the sky. "Got some water." He smiled, shaking a bottle of water in his hand for emphasis. Jean needed a moment to calm down and collect his thoughts, but it was just a moment too soon. Mikasa and Eren slid into view on Armin's side, both of them with glasses of what Jean guessed was eggnog.

Mikasa held up her glass a little as she bent down to keep her head in full view. "Time to say goodbye to another year!" She turned her head to look at something, "Any minute now. Last year I didn't really do much, but I had a lot of fun this year." She was smiling as she turned back to the screen, and as hot as she was, Jean was really trying to focus on more important things.

"Yeah, uh, haha, I think we had a little too much 'fun' this year. Right Jean?" Marco asked, not realizing he was just interrupting Jean even more. Fun? What like, the party that wasn't fun at all? "Uh huh, yeah Marco, but I w-wanted to ask-- I wanted to _tell_ you," Jean was stammering, his face pink. But Marco interrupted yet again, "That's not alcohol, is it? I don't think you need anymore of that for, I dunno, the next year at least!" He laughed, and Jean wanted to fall apart and laugh with him, because it was just so damn genuine, innocent, and cute. Like a little tickle of a breeze on Jean's ears, nice and gentle.

It hadn't been long, but Jean had been put in a daze, and when he came out of it, he realized that people were counting down. Eren, Mikasa, the people on the T.V., even Armin was muttering the numbers as he looked on with slight annoyance and an "I told you so" in his eyes. Jean could feel his heart racing, and his lungs moving, and the saliva in his mouth seem to recede far away into the corners of Jean's mouth so he couldn't speak.

"9!... 8!... 7!..." Why couldn't he say anything!?

"6!" Marco had joined in now too, a huge grin on his face.

"5!... 4!... _3!..._ " It doesn't take long to tell someone you love them, though. "Marco! I, I'm in love with-" It doesn't take much longer to kiss someone, either.

" _EREN!_ " The screech was loud, almost blood curdling, and had interrupted the "Happy New Year" from everyone's lips, and the confession from Jean's. He didn't notice what had happened to make Armin scream like that, he just saw Armin fall out of his chair, Eren stumble out of view, and Mikasa's utterly shocked and confused face, her eyes wider than Jean had ever seen.

Armin dropped out of the call, and both Jean and Marco were sitting there in silence, confused. Jean was petrified more than anything, unable to understand how the universe could have worked so hard to do everything it had just done. Marco had worry on his face, but he didn't say anything either.

It had only been a moment, but Armin rejoined the video call. Except, Mikasa was the one sitting at Armin's desk chair, looking as normal as she'd ever been. When she was all alone like this, it was quite intimidating whether you were interested in women or not. She just had a look about her that screamed "I could break your wrist, please give me a good reason to" or something. Even Marco stayed silent. But then, they could hear voices from off to the side.

"C'mon just give me a chance, babe!" That was Eren, and he sounded hurt and desperate. "Eren! We _talked_ about this! And don't call me 'babe'!" Armin said that, and he sounded.... well, Jean wasn't sure what kind of emotion that was. But just like that, Jean understood. He hadn't really noticed it while it was happening, but with their arguing, and what had happened, Jean realized what went wrong as he thought back on it.

Just as the count down to the next year was ending, Eren had leaned down and kissed Armin on the mouth. Armin who, apparently doesn't feel or care for romance and sex. _Oh._ Jean rarely felt pity for people, because pity is demeaning, but he felt genuinely bad for Eren. Eren, the conventionally attractive ass that seemed to be able to get anyone he wanted, had been trying to woo his... best friend.

Jean exhaled from his nose and leaned back into the couch, feeling an odd sense of dread wash over him. He knew he wasn't Eren, and he knew that Marco was definitely not Armin, and yet, everything in the world just happened to unfold like _this_. The second he tries to confess his love for Marco, and he gets to see how love wasn't working out for Eren, and how awful of a position Armin had been put in because of what was probably Eren's constant pursuit of a relationship between the two of them that went beyond friendship or family.

Poor Eren, he must not have understood or realized how things weren't going to work out no matter what he did. Jean wasn't sure if what Armin said about not caring for romance and sex was true, but if Armin didn't want Eren, it didn't matter why, did it? Eren was wasting his time, and the poor dumbass probably didn't even know it.

It made Jean wonder, was he as stupid as Eren was? Not in general, obviously he had better grades than Eren, but, for _this_? He remembered, Armin said he didn't think Marco was like him, but that didn't mean that Marco was interested in Jean, or even in men. It just meant that maybe, he could love people and want to screw them. But he wasn't sure, he wasn't sure, he wasn't _sure_ , and he didn't want to be pitied and pathetic like Eren.

What was it that Eren had said? "Just give me a chance"? Jean resisted the urge to bite down on the insides of his mouth, because he knew that if Marco had rejected _him_ , that's exactly what he would have said in desperation. Because he loved Marco so much, he'd grovel and try to make himself, or the idea of a relationship between them, look appealing and worthwhile. Was Jean ready to do that tonight...?

 _No_ , he wasn't. There was no way, after seeing what he'd just seen, that he could risk starting off the new year with regret and tears, with the feeling of not being worth it to Marco for whatever reason. It wouldn't be Marco's fault at all, and Jean knew that. He just couldn't put himself into that situation, not now. Not when the thought of sounding as pathetic as Eren was a possibility.

A loud slap was heard, and Mikasa's eyes narrowed as she looked towards the sound, "I think I should go, they're fighting." At that, Marco gasped with concern, fear in his eyes, "Like, fist fighting?" The idea of Armin raising his fist to anyone was hilarious, and it pulled Jean out of his thoughts and made him laugh a bit louder than was probably appropriate.

Mikasa shook her head, "Armin? In a fist fight? With _Eren_? That's ridiculous. Don't worry about it, I'll calm them both down." Just before Mikasa exited the call, Jean could hear the sound of sobbing, and he wondered who it was that had the honor of being reduced to tears of pain for the new year. All Jean knew for sure, was that he in no way prepared to be in that position.

He wouldn't tell Marco. Not tonight, he couldn't. Maybe when Marco got back from his vacation, maybe for Valentine's Day, maybe even a year from now. But not tonight. Tonight had crashed and burned, unintentionally ruined by a mix of Jean's own doubt, Eren's desperation, and the universe at work. Maybe this was God's way of finally getting around to punishing Jean for sinning, but that was silly, ridiculous even. Why would God want to ruin his love life in such a ridiculous way? He wouldn't.

This was just a sad little accident, where instead of Jean backing out of things because of a horrible scenario he thought up in his mind, something incredibly real and possible had intervened to show him just how bad things could work out for him.

"I don't understand," Marco muttered, "What... just happened?" The pout on his face was absolutely heartbreaking, and that was with a shitty camera's rendering. Marco's phone must have been too small for him to see what had happened. Jean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, then downed his glass of apple cider. "I can't tell you, because it's not my business. But I don't think uh... I don't think it's a good idea to mention it to anyone, unless any of them tell you themselves."

He couldn't stand the sound of all the strangers around the country celebrating the ball drop, so Jean picked up the remote and turned the T.V. off. Now it really was quiet, just the sound of breathing, Christmas music, and bugs chirping on Marco's end. Maybe, hopefully, Marco had forgotten that Jean had even said anything right before midnight. They could remember this night as some drama between Armin and Eren, or they could just forget it all together.

Jean felt so weak and petty for feeling this way, for backing out of confessing right after he nearly had. Was he just using Eren and Armin's fight as an excuse not to go through with it, or had it really bothered him this much? Jean rubbed his face and let out a deep sigh that ended with a sort of whimper, and he squeezed his eyes shut. "'Scuse me." He mumbled, getting up the couch and heading towards the nearest bathroom.

The little half bath on the ground floor was practically made for crying in. The toilet lid was one of the soft cushion kinds, and it was comfortable to sit on. Jean wasn't heaving or sobbing, but tears were definitely pouring out of his eyes, and he was trying to contain his sniffling. He was already as pathetic as Eren was, it was just that while Eren had the balls to confess his feelings to Armin, Jean could barely look at Marco while thinking about how he felt.

He knew Marco was forgiving, and kind, and would value Jean's friendship almost no matter what Jean said to him, but Jean couldn't bring himself to experience the pain of rejection. The risk was too high, and the chance that maybe Marco would feel the same way was heavily outweighed by the shame and fear that Jean knew he'd drown in if Marco didn't share his feelings.

Jean was still going to tell Marco, just not tonight. But maybe his promises weren't worth anything, considering how he hadn't been able to tell Marco he loved him in all 365 days he'd had the chance to before despite promising that it would be the year he told Marco how he really felt. His Nana told him not to have any regrets, well, he fucked that one up already.

Then, Jean noticed that he'd gotten a text, so he wiped the tears on his face and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was, from Marco?

> "I don't know what happened there but i can see something upset you. you don't have to tell me what that all was and you can take your time doing whatever you're doing, but i still want to spend my new year with at least 1 of my friends." 

The naive sweetheart, as always. How could he manage to say things so sweet and then end up slipping in something as lonely and self serving as that? Jean let out a short laugh, wiping more tears from his face. If Marco knew he was crying maybe he wouldn't have tried to get Jean to come back to the skype call. 

> "i wanna see the new year get here with you :) " 

Oh, Marco really did know just how to get Jean's attention, didn't he? Jean couldn't turn Marco down after a message like that, even if he did want to shove that stupid smiley down Marco's throat. So he sent an "ok" and pushed his phone back into his pocket. Then he got up and turned the sink on, so that he could wash all of the tears from his face and maybe hide the redness and puffiness too. He didn't need Marco worrying about him, but he figured that Marco's phone was too small to perfectly detail Jean's hideous face.

After Jean was sure his sniffling had stopped, and no tears would escape him again, he headed back to the living room. Marco looked so happy once he saw Jean sit back down again, "Hey! You got my texts then? They're doing something really special here tonight with the fireworks. They're going to do them right over the lake, instead of in the field across from it!"

Jean gave a nod and made a noise to assure Marco that he was listening and interested. He was so happy that Marco got the hint and didn't try to get him to talk immediately. It was nice, listening to Marco talk, seeing Marco's face change as he smiled in different ways, and then pouted or frowned when he talked about something that was annoying or had bothered him.

It was nearing 1 a.m., and suddenly Marco had put his phone down on the table, "What? You need me to what?" Jean couldn't hear what the other person who was talking to Marco was saying, they were too far away. "I'll be right back, hold on." Marco said, before leaving Jean to situate himself with the quiet. Although, it wasn't as quiet now as it was before. Jean could hear people from Marco's end, talking and chattering and laughing with excitement and joy. There must have been so many people there to see the fireworks.

"Ohhhh man, Jean, look!" Marco lifted the phone back up, and Jean squinted his eyes as he tried to see what Marco was showing him. It was a water bottle, filled a quarter of the way up with something. "What is that?" Jean asked, trying to see if there was a certain color to it that the shitty phone lighting wasn't making clear.

Marco smirked and pushed the water bottle closer to the phone's camera, and Jean started to notice little bubbles in it. "Okay. It's sparkling white grape juice? Apple cider?" But then Marco pulled the water bottle away and gave Jean a look. They were like, bedroom eyes maybe. Hmm. Jean would like to see Marco making that face more often.

"It's _champagne_ , my aunt gave it to me, said it was a reward for not getting drunk at that party last month!" Marco explained with a hint of pride in his voice. Jean wanted to slap the little smirk right off his face and drown him in that little puddle of alcohol. "That's illegal, you're not even 18 yet! What the hell, Marco!?" Jean didn't really care that it was illegal, he was just jealous that Marco's first experience with alcohol would be fun and controlled and tastier than fucking Kool-Aid.

Marco laughed, "What, are you going to call the cops on me? I'm not going to get drunk like you did." He was teasing, and Jean actually liked it, appreciated it even. He liked being able to think about something other than the sadness of midnight, and to think about the approaching 1 a.m., Marco's new year.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. You better drink all of it, though! I don't want to see a single drop left in that stupid bottle." Jean sighed, sitting up to pour himself another glass of what was now luke warm, slightly flat cider. Marco stopped laughing and looked behind him, "Are you ready? Count down is soon! Here, I'll get closer to the lake." Then Marco was moving, and it was a blurred mess as Jean could hear people all around.

Once he stopped, Marco adjusted the phone so that there was a good view of his face again. He was panting, but smiling, "Okay, so, this has got to be the best view! You ready?" Jean could stare at Marco all night, but he shook the distracting thoughts from his mind, focusing on just spending the last moments of Marco's 2015 with the Marco that was there, not the Marco who was frozen in time and ready for Jean to fantasize about staying with forever.

"10!... 9!... 8!... 7!..." There were so many voices when the count down started, that Jean wasn't even sure if Marco could hear him.

"6!... 5!... 4!... _3!..._ " Marco was smiling so wide, and he looked so happy. But Jean was happy, too.

" _2!... 1!_ " Marco leaned to the side, letting Jean see the lake behind him.

"Happy New Year!" Everyone was loud and out of sync, and then the pops and explosions of fireworks went off in the sky. There were so many colors, and so many going off all at once. Jean knew it must have looked breath taking in person, but he could appreciate how beautiful it was just fine. The light from the fireworks shining on the lake, the way the water rippled, distorting the reflections, how the remaining smoke was being slowly blown away like the clouds in the night sky.... And Marco's face, constantly being lit up with different colors, his eyes shining and his laughter as loud and beautiful as the fireworks themselves.

"Happy new year, Marco!" Jean yelled so that Marco could hear him over the roar of the people and explosions. Marco inhaled, calming down from his laughter, and gave Jean such a warm, gentle smile, "Happy new year plus and hour, Jean!" And he went into a fit of giggles that led to laughter all over again. What a complete dork. But Jean couldn't keep himself from smiling so hard his mouth and cheeks hurt, and god, was this worth it.

Jean loved this. Not just Marco, but all of it. He hadn't told Marco how he felt, but it was okay. Really, it was so much better than just "okay".

* * *

The next few days felt like they were taking forever to Jean, even though he was talking to Marco on the phone every day, he was anxious to see him in person again. He made Marco promise to stop by after he got home, so that they could give each other Christmas presents. Of course, Jean was far more interested in giving Marco a hug than opening gifts.

He tried to keep his excitement contained, but his mother kept trying to bring up the topic of "the girl" that Jean supposedly was trying to romance. Jean kept making up excuses so that she wouldn't realize that the person he was talking to that made him so happy wasn't a girl at all. Jean wasn't sure anymore when he'd tell Marco how he felt, but he wasn't about to set another deadline for himself. The pressure would only stress him out.

Jean could just stall until he screwed up, that seemed like a good enough plan. If the goal was to eventually mess up, then how could he fail? He was so close to confessing on Thursday, so the next time he ended up trying it'd probably be a success. Maybe. Whatever, it wasn't going to matter for a while, so he shouldn't think about it too much.

He couldn't remember ever being this excited for a Sunday to arrive, especially considering it was the day right before school started again. Jean had been busy all Sunday trying to make himself look nice before Marco arrived. Why? He wasn't exactly sure, since there was no plan to do anything special or different from when they normally exchanged gifts after vacation.

Maybe he was just really excited for that hug? Marco gave such nice hugs, even if they did last just a few seconds too long and it got into the awkward zone. Hugs were as close as Jean could get to really snuggling with him, which sounds really sad and pathetic, but so what? Platonic cuddles are a thing, right? That's a thing now? Now if only platonic blowjobs could be a thing....

Jean tried to get his mind out of the gutter when thinking about Marco, mainly because his main New Year's Resolution was to stop fantasizing about Marco naked. That, and to stop using household objects as dildos. But the two were practically the same thing lately, what with Jean's disappointing night of sin the week before. It was such a terrible dilemma he had, going from sexual fantasy, to fluffy fantasy, to romantically sexual fantasy, and back again.

He knew hormones were supposed to be out of whack in his teenage years but really, this was getting hard to manage. One minute, he was blushing, thinking about how cute Marco's face was. The next, he thought about Marco's long, lean, thick and sweaty thighs after a jog, and Jean needed to go take a cold shower. At least it wasn't like that was always happening, or as extreme as things were when Jean shoved a cross up his ass.

If that were the case then Jean definitely wouldn't be able to keep his feelings a secret. Marco was a little naive but he wasn't a dumbass, he, from what Jean saw, almost always noticed when someone was checking him out or trying to hit on him. Which made Jean wonder if maybe, Marco had gotten laid or something on vacation.

Because really, if Marco was going to pools and swimming in lakes all the time looking like he did in the pictures he posted? Who in their right mind wouldn't try to hit on him? Just, the scenario was like something out of a shitty romance movie that comes out around every February for Valentine's Day!

Conventionally attractive white guy plops himself into some southern town for a couple of weeks looking all sexy yet innocent, being shirtless and smiling at cute girls-- Marco was a walking cheesy love story! He _must_ have gotten laid, right!?

After imagining Marco naked and putting his hands all over some cute, acne-less girl, Jean shuttered. He had to stop thinking about Marco naked, for one. And secondly, he was only hurting himself by imagining Marco with someone else in a sexy or romantic situation.

But then, Jean got a text. Maybe Marco was finally back home, he'd told Jean earlier that there was a lot of traffic and that they might not make it home until late at night. It was only 6:30 p.m., but if Ymir was driving, maybe her road rage somehow got them through the traffic alright.

> "knock knock" 

What was that supposed to mean...? Before Jean could send a response, he heard the doorbell ring. No way. Marco wasn't so much of a fucking loser he'd do this, right? Jean held onto his phone as he headed to the front door. But instead of checking the peep hole, he stood in front of the door instead, waiting. He got another text. 

> "ding dong?" 

The doorbell rang again, and Jean snorted, having to bite down on the inside of his lips just to keep quiet. He didn't want to get another dumb text though, so he poked his face a bit to get his smile to go away, and took a deep breath. Jean needed to look uninterested and bored, because there was no way in hell he wanted Marco to realize how eager Jean was to see him again.

He reached forward and opened the door to see Marco looking down at his phone, his eyebrows pushed together. Then he noticed Jean and looked up, his mouth open a little, "Oh. Did you get my texts?" Jean rolled his eyes and pushed the door open wider, "Yeah, I'm glad to see you, too! Of course I got your texts, they were _lame_ , how could you think that was a good idea?"

Marco pouted a little, "Wow, okay. I thought I would surprise you! Look, I even brought your present." He pulled a fucking gigantic box covered in silver paper out from behind him. Jean's eyes widened, "What the _fuck_ is that!?" Why was it so big? What the hell was in there?

What did he ask for that would need to be in a box as big as a flat screen T.V.-- Jean would get a knife and stab Marco if it was a flat screen T.V., because those are too expensive to buy for even your best friend. You could buy so much clothes with that money. But Marco was the type of nice guy asshole that would overspend during the holidays just because he could, so it was a possibility.

Marco put his phone back in his pocket and picked up the present with both hands, "Whyyy don't we find out?" He asked, carrying the present into the house far too easily for it to be something like a T.V., much to Jean's relief. Jean loved expensive, free shit, but he felt bad when it was his friends' money getting wasted on him. Which made no sense, considering it wasn't their money that was paying for the food he ate and the house he lived in. But that's what greedy little children are meant to be, isn't it?

Jean closed the door behind Marco, and in the light of the house, he realized just how tanned Marco had actually gotten. He practically had Ymir's skin tone now, and it was weird. "You... dude you're like, _really tan_." He imagined what the tan line around Marco's thighs must have looked like, but chewed on his cheek to distract himself from getting dragged into fantasy land. Oh, but he could just kiss that little tan line and....

Marco made a confused face for a moment as he clumsily tried to take off his shoes. "Yeah that's, sort of what happens when you spend two weeks in the sun without sunscreen. I know you liked almost every damn picture I posted on Facebook, what, are you making fun of me?" Make fun of Marco? Yeah, Jean probably would, but not this time. He was genuinely a little shocked.

Pulled out of his fantasy, Jean quickly came up with something to say in response, "No, just, it's different in person.... And it was like a gradual thing, y'know? You post one picture a day at least, it just kinda fades together in your head. I don't know, you just look tanner this year than last year." Duh, of course he was tanner this year than last year. Jean wanted to kick himself for making up something that dumb.

"Uh I'm gonna go get your present, 'be right back in a second." Jean excused himself, quickly running out of the entryway and up the stairs. He really hoped Marco liked the gift he got for him, it was something Marco hadn't asked for but Jean knew he wanted. Marco had been eyeing it in the stores for nearly a year, and Jean was surprised that he hadn't gotten it for Easter or his birthday already.

It was weird considering that, despite all of Marco's stunning, charming, manic pixie dream boy qualities he had, he was still just as materialistic and greedy as Jean was. And he had more money, and more family members living with him who all had jobs and money to burn. Marco could hide it as much as he wanted, but Jean knew he wanted almost everything. Some things more than others though. Jean splurged a bit this year just to get him a good present.

There was a stack of wrapped gifts in the corner of Jean's room, and Marco's was the biggest of the bunch. It was about the size of one of those 18 gallon/70 liter storage bins. It too, was incredibly light for how the size would make it seem. Jean was just praying and hoping Marco didn't have the same idea he had, what with the wrapping.

So, Jean was pushing the box out of his room and down the hallway, and then he slowly pushed it down the stairs to pretend it was much heavier than it really was. When he finally got downstairs and Marco could see the box, his mouth was agape and he looked almost concerned. "Jean? Please tell me that's not... I don't even know what I'm hoping it's not, just, that's huge! How much did you pay for, whatever that is?"

Jean slowly pushed the box into the living room, and then he fell back onto the couch, a smirk on his face. "I think the words I'm looking for are, 'whyyy don't we find out"?" He said in a mocking voice, crossing his legs and getting comfortable. The excitement Jean was feeling was amazing, he loved it. This was the kind of thing he wouldn't get to do ever again with it having the same effect.

Marco rolled his eyes as he sat down next to the giant box, "Haha, okay, make fun of me. I'll think about this when I'm deciding how much to spend for your birthday present in a few months." But all Jean could do was grin excitedly as he took his phone out of his pocket. He had to record this!

At first, Marco was only just a little confused as he smoothed his hands all around and across the red and green paper. He must have been looking for some loose seam to start ripping from. Then he started to pick at the pieces of tape, to no avail. "How do I open this?" He asked, glancing at Jean for a second before doing a double take, " _Jean_ , why do you have your phone out?"

Jean chewed on his bottom lip, snickering a little, "Just, I wanna see how you react to what I got you." It was a half-lie, but whether or not Marco believed it didn't matter. Curiosity, the cat, the satisfaction, all of those things and whatnot.

After more vigorous picking, Marco managed to peel off some tape. He smiled a little, satisfied, but it was short lived. As he ripped the green and red paper off, underneath it was a layer of blue wrapping paper. But he didn't say anything, he just pushed the first layer of paper to the side and began working on the next layer. It took him a bit, but he succeeded and ripped away at it to reveal... _another_ layer of wrapping paper. This time it was just red.

Jean resisted the desire to laugh, and Marco turned to look at him, a blank stare on his face, "Really?" Marco absolutely _despised_ wrapping paper. Jean nodded gently, "Just open it." Then Marco's head tilted, and he gave Jean a more stern look. "Jean...."

Marco didn't wait long before moving on to peeling off more of the paper. After another 3 whole layers of paper and some miffed sighing, he got to a cardboard box that was taped shut. "Finally." Marco muttered, earning a snort from Jean. When that was open, Marco pulled out... another box!

"Jean! Please tell me you didn't do what I think you did?" Marco looked at Jean with pleading eyes, but Jean only shrugged. "Whattaya talkin' about, hm? I have no idea!"

Marco heaved out a sigh, hastily ripping off the wrapping paper from it. And then, another layer. And another.... "No way, nooo way you have the time to do something like this! Is anything even in here? There can't be _that many_ layers of paper...." He mumbled, looking a little distressed from the whole situation.

This was fucking golden. More wrapping paper. Another box to open. Another box inside of that box, wrapped in more paper. Marco snapped his head to the side, his eyes narrowed, "Jean this isn't funny anymore, okay? You know this, this _stuff_ just irritates the hell out of me!"

Jean leaned back in the couch, and he would have been a little taken aback if it hadn't been for how amazing it was watching Marco struggle. "C'mon man you're nearly there!" That wasn't really a lie, not if Marco was fast about it anyway. He just had to keep going!

Marco, a little more frustrated than before, returned to his cycle of opening boxes and tearing at paper. After a few more minutes he even laughed a little, turning to Jean and holding up his right hand, "Look, I got a paper cut! This is ridiculous, Jean! Can you please go get me some scissors?"

"Aww, poor baby, did the _evil_ wrapping paper hurt you? You sure you can handle some scisso--" Jean's teasing was interrupted when Marco balled up a mass of wrapping paper and threw it towards Jean. It missed horribly, going straight over the couch, but it still got Jean's attention.

"Okay fine, be an ass. I'll do it by hand...." Marco sounded determined, but he was practically in hysterics when he found another box that had "last one!" written on it, only for him to open it and find another fucking box. "Come _on_ when is this going to end!? Jean you're such a fucking asshole, where's my present!? There's nothing in here, is there? Tell me!" He looked like he wanted to cry.

Jean was only laughing along with him, trying not to drop his phone or shake it too much. "You can do it just, just, keep going alright? You'll get there, pfft, _eventually_!" How long would it take before Marco gave up, or actually cried?

Marco bit down on his lip and continued, though the longer it went on, the slower he got. There was so much paper, so much tape, so many _lies_. Marco put the next box down and whined, "Oh, my, _god_!" He had such a sad look on his face. "Jeannn, I'm tired, and this is _killing_ me!"

"Oh really? And you're always the one telling me that I'm overly dramatic, look at you, you look like you're gonna cry!" Jean laughed and leaned his arm on his knee. He wouldn't admit it but, this was kinda exhausting holding his arm up to record this. He'd spent days wrapping Marco's gift this way, and his mother had scolded him for wasting so much wrapping paper and tape for the sake of a joke that would only annoy Marco.

"I _am_ gonna cry! You must really hate me." Marco whined again, monotonously pulling away at more paper, and tossing more boxes to the side. But he seemed to brighten up a bit as the boxes got smaller and smaller, and there was less paper to rip through. He didn't even complain about the possibility that there was no gift at the end of it all, and that Jean had just been stringing him along like an asshole.

Finally, Jean could see that there was only one layer of wrapping paper left before the real gift was released from it's prison. It was about the size of a CD case, and it had a little blue bow in the corner. The gift tag sticker read "last one, really!", and Jean wondered if Marco didn't trust it.

But then Marco ripped off the wrapping paper and stared down at the present with a smile that quickly went from genuine happiness to what Jean knew was fake happiness. A smile that, if you didn't really know Marco, seemed like all of his other ones. There was something a little different about the way Marco smiled when he was actually happy, and when he was disappointed but trying to make people feel better.

Jean's excitement drained from him, and he immediately stopped recording. "You don't look happy, what's the matter?" Marco looked at him, his fake smile turning into a genuine, sheepish grin. "Well uh... it's just, now I have th-three copies, of Story of Seasons."

Three copies. Three of them. Not one, not two, but _three_ fucking copies of Story of Seasons!? "You what!? When was this!? Why? Here give that back I'll return it and then--" Jean looked upset, but not as mortified as Marco looked when Jean had suggested returning it. "No! No this is fine, okay? I bought a copy for myself, and then my mom got me it for Christmas! I didn't say anything to you because I didn't think this would happen!"

Jean blinked and shook his head, "Wh-what? What the hell do you need 3 copies of it for!? Damn it Marco just let me return it, I can get you something else!" But Marco only hugged the 3DS case to his chest, "I said no! Now I can marry all of the girls without having to completely delete my save files first. This is, actually kinda perfect in a way...." He explained as he looked down at the case, blushing.

Well then. That was an... unexpected answer, to say the least. Jean just put his phone back in his pocket and folded his hands, resting them on his knees. "That's... uh? Marco that's...." Jean was going to say that Marco should just go out and get a girlfriend, but, he didn't want to poke the hidden nerve that he sometimes messed with unintentionally when it came to their conflicting opinions on Marco's romancing games.

Unfortunately, Marco seemed to know that already. "Okay stop judging me and just get to opening the present I got for you, jerk." He set the case on the floor and started pushing the mess of paper and boxes to the side. Jean wasn't looking forward to cleaning up later, but he'd get around to it. His mother was at a book club meeting, she wouldn't be home to nag him until later.

Jean was still excited to see the large gift that Marco had gotten him, and he knew now, by the way Marco reacted to the over wrapped hell that he wouldn't have to experience the same thing. They swapped positions, and Jean took a moment to look over the large gift before pulling his phone out again to take a picture.

He set his phone down and went for the fold on the side, pulling and ripping it with ease. Marco hummed and leaned on his hand, "I should have over-taped it." Jean couldn't hide the smile on his face, having nothing to say in response. What could be said about what he'd done? He deserved a medal.

Jean was confused once he'd pulled the wrapping paper off. It was a giant red case, with a handle and some latches at the bottom. What the hell was it? He looked up at Marco, confused, "Giant briefcase...?" That's all that came to mind. But after seeing the anticipation in Marco's eyes, he simply moved to flick the latches up and then lifted the handle.

He gasped as he opened it fully, the top standing up straight by some black strings tied to the bottom half supporting it. "Oh god.... Ohhh my _god_." Jean moaned, unable to bring himself to touch the contents of the case. It was beautiful. Gorgeous, even.

It was an art set, with paints, all kinds of pencils, erasers, brushes-- It had everything. Jean could tell just by looking at them that it was the good shit, too. Water color pencils, oil paints, a bunch of different sketching pencils, charcoal pencils, and Jean couldn't even guess how soft the paintbrushes were. "Ohhh, fuck me.... Oh my, fucking, _god_...."

"Should I leave you two alone?" Marco asked, snapping Jean out of his daze of fascination. Jean looked up, his mouth open a little. "Uh...." He looked back down at everything, then slowly moved his hand forward to touch the paintbrushes. "Maybe you _should_...." He whispered, and was joking of course.

But the handle of one of the larger brushes could-- No, no, no no nono, god no. Jean could _not_ get used to thinking about using household objects as dildos.

He looked back up at Marco, who had sucked the inside of his cheek and looked a bit unsure of whether or not Jean had been serious. Jean felt himself blush a little, "O-oh for fuck's sake, Marco! It was a joke!" Was it though? Really? Would Jean not be tempted by the allure of the fancy, expensive, smooth handle a few months from now?

Marco nodded quickly, "Yeah I knew that. I knew that." Jean quickly closed the case, "Right. So, how much did you blow on this thing? Tell me now Marco, before I get attached!" It had to be expensive, it was too fancy.

Jean should have known better though, because Marco would never want to make him feel so guilty about money, especially around the holidays. "'Doesn't matter. It wasn't all my money though, think of it as like, a gift from my family." Yikes. How much was it that Marco had to borrow money from his parents and his sister? "Ew, Ymir's money was spent on this? I changed my mind I hate it."

Marco scoffed and stood up, "Yeah that's not even slightly believable, Jean. I should have had _my_ phone's camera at the ready. You sounded like you were ready to make out with that thing, so my guess is, you like it?" Jean looked down in embarrassment, "Shut up, okay?" If there was any making out going on, it'd be with Marco.

Thinking about kissing made Jean remember how much he'd waited to give Marco a hug, so he rushed at the opportunity before the subject changed. It was as if he'd tripped and fallen into Marco's arms, which for Jean felt kind of magical, but he knew that it wasn't a mutual feeling. "Whoa, are you ok--" Jean just leaned his head into Marco's shoulder, "I love it." He wanted to say he loved Marco but, it just wasn't the time.

Marco wrapped his arms around Jean and honestly, it felt even nicer than Jean had imagined it would be. If only this could be a little different, and Jean could talk about how much he missed him and then give him a kiss on the cheek.

But before Jean could get too lost in thinking about what wasn't going to happen, he smelled something and immediately pulled away, disgust on his face. "Marco, _why_ do you still smell like sun screen?" It was faint enough that Jean's amazingly useless nose couldn't have picked it up before, but now that his face was so close to Marco? It was like being stabbed in the back, but, the nose.

Marco looked surprised as he let his hands drop to his sides, but then he just shrugged, "Oh, uh, I didn't have time to wash all of my clothes before we left. I didn't notice it smelled like sun screen...."

Unforgivable. Jean took a few steps back and started to brush at his arms as if the smell was now on him and something that had to be scraped away. "I feel gross, I need to go take a shower now." He wasn't sure what it was about the smell of sun screen, but he'd always hated it. Going swimming was always such a bittersweet activity in the summer.

Marco gestured with his hands at the mess of paper and boxes all of the floor, "No, _this_ is gross! I still can't believe you did it. How long did it take you? You're always complaining about having to build your projects for school but, what, if it means torturing your best friend you'll work hard?"

Jean could tell by the little smile on Marco's face that he was only joking, so Jean decided not to apologize. "Uh-huh, you know I like to see you struggle, panic, things like that. If I can't 'torture' you sometimes then, then what's the point of being friends?" He tried not to make it sound too sexual.

Marco's smile widened as he bent down and picked up some of the wrapping paper by his feet, "Yeah okay, you're _such_ a great 'best' friend. I guess I'll just find a way to torture you when I have some free time?" He asked, handing the ripped paper to Jean. If only he realized how much torture he put Jean through some days without even realizing it.

They started to gather all of the wrapping paper that was scattered across the living room, stuffing it into the empty boxes and then shoving the boxes into a corner. It'd be easy clean up tomorrow when it wasn't cold out, and neither of them were lazy.

When that was finished, Marco immediately headed into the kitchen, "Hey you have hot chocolate right? I haven't had any since before vacation." Jean looked confused, but he followed Marco into the kitchen anyway. "Yeah? What did they not have hot chocolate down there?" He asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

Marco sighed as he pulled milk out of the fridge, "Yeah but it was like, Hell down there or something. I didn't want to drink hot chocolate in that heat, are you kidding? Next year I think I'm just gonna stay home. I'll be 18 so, it's not like my parents can stop me."

Jean liked the sound of that, and he wondered if he could convince his mom to let him spend the next Christmas with Marco. But it probably wouldn't happen, even if she didn't know that Jean was in love with Marco. "Really? C'mon I saw all your Facebook posts, you told me how much fun you had. You can't tell me you don't wanna go back there because of some hot chocolate cravings."

He leaned to the side so that Marco could open the cabinet and grab a cup, and Jean tried not to shuffle away or towards Marco's hand on the counter. "I just miss white Christmases." Marco said as he poured milk into the mug, although he didn't sound very convincing. As he walked towards the cabinet with the hot chocolate packets in it, Jean picked up the mug and smirked, "Ohhh, I see. I know why you don't wanna go back. Did you have a steamy, hot one-night-stand with a cute country girl that turned into a, a _thing_ that turned into a weird thing?"

When Marco turned around, he had the slightest blush on his face, and Jean didn't know whether to feel triumph or jealousy. But Marco sucked in his cheeks, biting on them, and refused to meet Jean's eyes as he walked over to him. "Jean I.... The only girls I like are in video games." As pathetic as that sounded, he gave the mug back to Marco anyway.

"Besides," Marco continued as he walked over to the microwave, "Even if there was someone, you, you know I don't go out with anyone!" That was true, but Jean still didn't see why. "What are you saving yourself for Jesus or something?" Jean was kidding, but he was secretly hoping that it wasn't anything like that at all. That would really be a nightmare.

Marco laughed and turned the microwave on before turning and walking back to the fridge. Jean chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking about what he should say next. He could ask why Marco never seemed to want to date anyone real, but that might just end badly for him. If Marco hadn't told him in all the years they knew each other, then, what would make him want to tell him now?

Jean leaned back towards the cabinets and took a deep breath. "Hey, uh... Marco, can I tell you something?" He wasn't exactly sure where he was going with this, but it was going anyway. Marco must have noticed how Jean's voice changed, no longer avoiding eye contact. "Mhmm." He put the milk back in the fridge, and took a can of whipped cream out, setting it on the counter afterwards. "Anything."

It was reassuring to hear Marco say that, and Jean wasn't really that worried, but his nerves must have been more on edge than he'd realized. "Uh... okay, uhm, so.... I'm gay-- Interested in guys, I mean? I, I uh, I still like girls, so, yeah I'm bi I guess that's... that's the word for it yeah. Yeah." He couldn't take his eyes away from Marco as he explained, amazingly enough as that was. He hoped he didn't have too much of a blush on his face, though.

Marco didn't look fazed at all. "Oh. Yeah, I knew that already." And just like that, Jean felt ice cold, and his entire viewpoint of the world just imploded. How long? How long did he know? The microwave beeped, and Marco turned to go get his hot chocolate, "Did you think I'd be, like, upset? You know Ymir's a lesbian-- I don't have a problem with gay people."

It pulled Jean out of his stunned silence, and he slammed his hands down on the counter, "What the hell do you mean you _knew_!? What does j-just, everybody know I like guys!? Did someone tell you!?" Marco looked shocked as he turned around, holding his steaming hot mug of cocoa. "What? No, who else knows?"

Jean resisted the nervous urge to start scratching at the counter tops or squeezing the lip of the counter so hard it would hurt. "Armin knows! He, he fucking _guessed_ , or some shit, I don't know. What do you mean you already knew!? How!? I never told you anything!" He didn't mean to sound so stressed, but he couldn't help it.

Marco sucked in his cheeks and started biting them again, before taking a deep breath and moving to set his mug down on the counter. He looked Jean in the eyes, "Do you have any idea, how much gay porn you watch? I mean, I'm not, like, an expert on this stuff but I don't know many straight guys who watch gay porn? And you watch _so much of it_."

Jean's face went red, and he immediately crossed his arms. "H-how would you know how much p-porn I watch!? That's private!" Marco sighed and leaned on the counter, "Do I need to make a list?" Oh god, a list? A list!?

"Ever since your mom bought you a laptop you haven't cleared your internet history or your search history, or your search bar's common website options-- Jean, I'm not sure if you even know what the incognito option on Chrome is for!" Marco had a bit of a blush on his face now, but he didn't take his eyes off Jean.

"And one time, you said I could use your laptop to research some stuff, but you must have closed the wrong window because when you handed me your computer there was just, gay porn on like, every tab...." Marco picked up his cocoa and took a huge gulp of it then, and Jean was overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Jean was still so confused. How could Marco just, act natural all the time if he knew Jean wanted to fuck guys? Marco's been in nothing but a towel before in front of Jean, multiple times! How has he not freaked out about that? "I don't, I don't understand, Marco, how come you never said anything? Doesn't it, I dunno... bother you? We sleep together in the same room a lot and... stuff."

Marco stopped drinking, his brows furrowed in confusion. "So? Just because you like guys doesn't mean you automatically have to check me out all the time, or that you want to have sex with me or something." _Oh boy_ , was he wrong or what?

"And," He continued as he put his drink down, a stern look on his face. "Why would I say anything to you? Asking if you like men when you've clearly been pretending to be straight around me for years even though you know I'm not homophobic? That's.... Do you think I'm an asshole?"

Jean blinked, stunned by the question. He didn't really think about things in that way... and if that was the case, then Jean could mark Armin down as an asshole in Marco's book. "An... asshole? No I just, I mean, I ask you about your relationship stuff. Shit, _I'm_ the asshole!" He felt like an idiot and a douchebag. The only reason he'd never asked Marco about his sexuality was because Jean was afraid of Marco saying he was straight, not because it would be sticking his nose into Marco's private feelings.

Marco snorted, a smile on his face, "Oh yeah no, you're definitely an ass. But, that's not why. Jean, you're a little insensitive sometimes, but come on stop it, I've known you for half of my life. You know when to be quiet, most of the time anyway. I... I'm actually really _happy_ that you care so much about my uh, 'love life'."

Now Jean felt extra shitty. Yeah, he was interested in Marco's love life, but most of the time he'd just been trying to figure out if Marco liked guys or not. But now Jean knew, he'd never be able to ask Marco directly. Not with the way Marco was talking.

"Jean, why did you tell me now? Was there something else you wanted to say?" Marco looked genuinely curious, and completely ignorant of Jean's real feelings about the current subject. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? "I uh.... N-nothing, it's-- I mean, never mind." Jean looked down at the floor, slightly ashamed of himself. But he couldn't tell Marco how he felt, not right now anyway. He just couldn't see how it could end well.

Unfortunately, Marco was nosy and concerned, "C'mon, what are you hiding from me? Jean you've been in the closet for at _least_ 4 years, and now, something you want to say makes you come out to me? You know you can tell me anything, right? I don't want to force you but, still...."

The kind of shame Jean felt now was very different from say, the shame he felt after he masturbated with a banana, or fantasized about Marco's naked body. And it was so much worse. "Jean?" Marco sounded so damn _worried_ , it was-- It was torture. Jean couldn't take it anymore, and he looked up, staring at Marco for a moment.

Then his eyes landed on a couple of browning bananas on the counter next to Marco's hot cocoa. And when he saw the look on Marco's face, Jean realized that Marco wasn't going to drop the subject even if he didn't want to make the situation hostile. Jean took a deep breath, swallowed as much shame as he could and stared at the bananas on the counter.

"Remember in the summer that time you came over and I was doing lots of chores and you drank a smoothie I made? Okay well earlier that day when my mom was out shopping I was, like really really, _really_ h-horny and I wanted to know what it felt like to have like, a dick inside me y'know because I like guys?"

"So I used one of the bananas from the kitchen but then when I was done my mom came home and I didn't know what to do and she saw the banana and she asked me why I had it and I was freaking out so, so, I told her I wanted a smoothie and she wouldn't leave until I made the smoothie and then she made me drink some of it because I disrespected her by stealing her food or something, I don't know I can't really remember it very well it was a bad day."

"But then I put the smoothie in the fridge so I could go clean up my dirty clothes so she wouldn't suspect anything and I didn't know you came over and then when I saw you were drinking the smoothie I tried to get it away from you because I knew what it was a-and it was awful and the reason I'm telling you this now is because well I wasn't sure how to tell you and I needed to get it off my chest because now every time I look at a banana or I see you eat bananas it makes me want to cry." Jean finished, still staring at the bananas on the counter.

He didn't know what Marco's facial expression was like, and he didn't want to know. "You...? I remember the.... Wait so, like, the whole banana or, did you peel it, and then...? Did you use a condom... or, what?" Marco sounded so lost, and Jean slowly looked up to meet his gaze. "I d-didn't peel it, I just... I used a Zip-Loc baggie."

Marco blinked a few times, his mouth opening and closing, "Wait, you, you're serious?" Jean's words wouldn't come out of his throat, so he just nodded shamefully. They stared at each other for a bit, until Jean couldn't take it anymore and went back to staring at the floor tiles.

That's when he heard the snorting, which turned into muffled noises, and then a bang on the counter. Jean looked up to see Marco with tears in his eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth, and the other on the counter. "A-are you okay?" Jean muttered, confused.

Marco slammed his hand down on the counter again, his muffled noises becoming louder, sounding like... snickering. But just as Jean was about to say something, Marco turned around and leaned over the counter, resting his head on his arm, "You put a _pfft fucking, banana_ in you-- _pffft!_ " He was laughing. _Laughing_.

Jean didn't know what to do besides sit there, his face scrunched up in frustration. He let Marco laugh for a while as he stammered and choked on words, and he was half wishing he could take it all back. Then Marco seemed to calm down, breathing easier as he turned to the side, picking up the bananas that were on the counter, "Jean, Jean, _Jean_ , even I don't love bananas _that much_! Pfft you _put it in a smoothie_! You _drank it_!" And then he started laughing again, his face red and his eyes wet with tears.

"Hey! You d-drank the fucking thing t-too you, you asshole! You drank _glasses_ of it! Okay!? I, I only had one, one sip and it was my banana so...!" Jean tried defending himself but really, it was just making him look even worse, which was evident by how hard Marco started laughing at that.

Jean loved the sound of Marco's laughter, usually. But this? This was horrible. "Stop laughing at me! Shouldn't you be disgusted and angry!? Cut it out you, fucking asshole!" Jean was so embarrassed he could fall over and die right then and there.

Marco put the bananas down, nearly spilling his hot cocoa, and leaned on the counter as he tried to get air in his lungs. Jean wanted to get off the counter and kick him, he was just so damn frustrated and ashamed. After a few deep breaths, Marco wiped the tears from his face and stood up straight. "You're right, you're right, It's gross, but I can get over that. You did use, pfft, _protection_. Okay I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

Jean was confused now. "What? What are you--" Marco scooted to the side and gestured towards the bananas, "It, it must've hurt, right?" He was biting down on his bottom lip, clearly trying not to laugh. Jean huffed and looked away from him, "Not really... I, I used Vaseline as lube." Wrong answer.

Once again, Marco was a mess. This time he was barely making any noises at all as he scratched at the counter top and covered his mouth. " _Vaseline!_ " He breathed out, before snickering and heaving with laughter all over again. Jean slammed his fist down on the counter, "This _cannot_ be that funny to you! Don't tell me you haven't used something, I dunno, weird, to get off before! What're you into, huh? I bet, you have some weird, uh, really weird kink or, something. J-just shut up!"

Marco looked at Jean, "I'd've used a cucumber myself but-- I mean, to each their own!" Now he was just trying to be an asshole. Jean couldn't take the shame anymore and slid off the counter, stomping away in a hurry. He could still hear Marco snickering in between asking Jean to wait or come back, but Jean wasn't about to go get laughed at again.

Once Jean was in his room he slammed his door shut, and then he got into his bed and buried himself under blankets. If Marco wanted to laugh, that was fine, but Jean would rather feel embarrassed and ashamed somewhere he couldn't hear getting mocked. Marco was such a nice person in general, and even though Jean could definitely see how Marco thought it was funny, it still hurt a little.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, there was a knock at the door. Jean sighed and closed his eyes, gripping the blankets covering him tighter. There was another knock, and then the door opened. "Hey, Jean, I, I'm done laughing now. Really." Yeah right. Done laughing until Jean says something funny again.

Then he felt weight shift of the bed. "Okay, look, I'm sorry but, Jean, please tell me you never did anything like that again? Promise me you won't use fruit to masturbate, just, watch porn or something?" Or something? Yeah Jean was doing a lot of that since the banana incident. "I never stuck any more fruit up my ass." Jean muttered, loosening his grip on the blankets.

"Can't you uh, buy something actually meant for those kinds of things? And lube? There's lube at Wal-Mart. Tons of it. And condoms." Jean could hear the desire to laugh in Marco's voice, and he hated it. He pushed all the blankets off and glared at Marco, "Yeah and where will I hide my fancy new dildo and lube and, fucking condoms!? My mom cleans this house top to bottom, she'd find them! And, I can't just, _buy_ a dildo! I, I'd be too... fucking embarrassed, okay? And that's not an invitation to buy me one, either!"

Marco was blushing just as much as Jean was, but at least he wasn't laughing anymore. Jean never really talked about sex or masturbating with Marco, and for obvious, good reasons. He'd heard all kinds of guys talking about sex with their friends but, it just seemed too weird to Jean. It seemed too obviously gay, and he clearly didn't want Marco to know about that before tonight.

Relationships, romance, the possibility that either one of them would get laid? Yeah sure, that was normal to talk about. But masturbating, porn, or, what, dick size or something? Jean couldn't see how he or anyone else could find it possible to discuss that with friends.

Marco gave a little nod, "Okay, I get it. Sorry.... I really am, I mean, I know it was kinda funny but, I don't know what I would've done if I were you. Y'know, I was wondering why that smoothie tasted so good, but if the secret ingredient is shameful teenage lust, I can live without another one." His blushing melted away into a cute little smile, and Jean couldn't help but appreciate the humor.

"Yeah, you had what, 4 cups of it? You were as thirsty as I was." Jean smirked, and he got a little bit of a laugh out of Marco. Maybe he would have laughed more if he hadn't killed his lungs earlier. Jean frowned and looked at the sheets, "So you're not, mad, right?"

Marco gestured with his hands for Jean to scoot over, and Jean obeyed even though he wasn't sure what was going on. "Of course I'm not mad, Jean. I wouldn't have been laughing so much if I was. And...." Marco lied down on the bed next to Jean, "Can I, tell you a secret?"

Jean was so interested in what Marco had to say that he hadn't even realized how close to each other they were. "Anything." Jean muttered, so quietly that if there hadn't been the near dead silence in the room, it might've been inaudible. His hand felt a little warmer, and Jean realized it was because Marco's fingers had slowly made their way onto Jean's.

Marco breathed out of his nose, his face looking a little pink, "Alright, then. So...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't sass me about lie/lay/laid/layed/lied/lain! It's too confusing. You get the general idea of what the words mean in different contexts, right? Right???  
> Also, two more parts after this, then the sinful cycle will be complete. Hopefully I can write them faster than I wrote this one! Thank you for being patient and for reading. And commenting? Cmon nothing gets my sin wheels turning like a good long comment there to boost my ego.


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